


Best In Show

by feathers_and_cigarettes



Series: Best In Show 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon divergent from 8.23, Case Fic, Destiel - Freeform, Dog Shows, Dogs, Dom Castiel (Supernatural), Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fallen Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Fallen Angels, M/M, Mutual Pining, Power Play, Sam Deserves A Puppy, Sam Ships It, Seriously there are a lot of dogs, Sub Dean Winchester, Team Dean's Red Ass, Team Free Will, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-03 03:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 56,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17276327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathers_and_cigarettes/pseuds/feathers_and_cigarettes
Summary: Canon divergent from end of S8 - After Sam recovers from the Trials of attempting to close Hell and Castiel adjusts to his new mortal state, Team Free Will decides to set out to Massachusetts for a case to get their feet wet again after months of recovery. Dean and Cas have to work around their feelings for each other and everything unspoken - like Lucifer's Crypt - between them and Sam has regrets and wishes of his own. While they deal with all this, people are being murdered at AKC dog shows, it smells witchy, and to top it all off, something's off with Castiel. (Completed work, posting Wed and Sat).





	1. Better Days

**Author's Note:**

> This is it. My first foray into both Supernatural as well as long fic in general. This fic was two years in the making and I still can't believe I finished it. I will be posting Wednesdays and Saturdays but folks are welcome to come chat SPN and Destiel with on tumblr under @feathers-and-cigarettes - you can also see pics of dog shows and meet my own Cas, a Belgian Malinois like the one featured in this fic. 
> 
> Everything dog show-wise in this fic is as close to reality as I could make it. The places are all real places you can go to watch a dog show and some of the stories told by the handlers are actual things that have happened. Yes, you really will get a show dog thrown at you if you go into a show looking for information and to help out (we love free labour and will pay you in puppies and booze). The breeds featured are breeds that are near and dear to my heart and I'm happy to babble about them to folks who are curious. 
> 
> The playlist for the fic can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLWAPHP-Bqioeck9ZmiOXFT92r9PFl2RO3
> 
> My amazing beta was @li-izumi (here and on tumblr) and I could not have done this without her. Art for the banner and chapter five is by the amazing @dragonpressgraphics (tumblr, pherryt here on AO3). Please go shower them both with kudos and praise and love because they deserve it. Also thanks to Jaz and Virginia, whom I babbled plot points to at midnight and both patted me and told me I was being a baby and to suck it up and just write. I love you both. 
> 
> \- feathers-and-cigarettes

 

Part One 

It was pretty common for Sam to want to strangle his brother. Hell, he'd gone thirty-odd years where it was disconcerting if he didn’t want to strangle Dean. Wanting to strangle Castiel, however, was a new development.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. It had been close to three months since the angels fell and Sam nearly died attempting to close the Gates of Hell. Dean, surprisingly, had been the one to suggest a break, to let Sam recuperate from the trials and for Cas to adjust to his newfound humanity. They’d purposely avoided hunts, laying low in the bunker with Kevin, and occasionally Charlie, and kept an ear to the ground for news of Metatron or Crowley.

Now though, Sam was about ready to throw himself into the nearest vampire nest if it meant he didn't have to listen to his brother and the fallen angel bicker like an old married couple.

"I'm just sayin', Cas: would it kill you to get out of bed before eleven? Ever?"

"Would it kill you to not ask me that question every morning?"

Sam opened his eyes and scowled over the edge of his laptop. Dean stood guard over the coffee maker, arms crossed over his chest as he attempted to match glares with Cas. The angel's expression was full-on heavenly wrath, clearly intent on smiting Dean where he stood despite his lack of Grace.

"Dean, give the poor guy his coffee," Sam sighed. "For the record, would it kill either of you to stop bitching?"

"He started it," two voices growled out in unison.

Cas snatched his mug off the counter and slid into the seat across from Sam with a venomous look over his shoulder.

Sam could feel a headache blooming behind his eyes as he pushed his laptop across the table. "Take a look at this and tell me what you think," he sighed.

Cas sipped his coffee and looked for a moment like he was going to tell Sam where he could shove his laptop before turning his attention to the screen. Crisis averted; for now, at least.

"Dean, can we talk for a second? In private?" Sam asked, catching his brother's eye and tilting his head toward the war room.

Cas scowled and clenched his jaw but didn't bother looking up from the news article as the brothers shifted past his chair.

"You've gotta get off his ass," Sam said when they were out of earshot.

"I’m not on his ass, Sammy. If I were, I’d at least break out the Barry White and maybe some leather chaps..."

Sam rolled his eyes, biting back the urge to voice his suspicions that at least the Barry White had already happened and cringed at the mental image of leather chaps. He was gonna need some brain bleach.

"You are,” he countered, narrowing his eyes at his older brother. “Every day for the past month you've been nagging at him. Little stupid things like how he makes his coffee or walking outside barefoot-"

"He could get tetanus."

"-or how he folds his laundry. How he hasn't exploded at you already, I have no idea, because I'm ready to do it for him," Sam finished with a stony glare.

Dean snorted and rubbed his chin, fingertips rasping across the perpetual stubble all four bunker men seemed to be sporting of late. "I'm trying to teach him how to be human," he grumbled. "He's only been twitchy this past month 'cause he practically bleeds coffee."

"You're going to drive him away." Sam was aware he was treading on thin ice. Dean's legendary abandonment issues and Cas' frightening pattern of bad life choices aside, Sam knew something had happened between the two of them down in Lucifer's Crypt. Whatever it was, it ran deep.

"Remember how much I pissed you off when Dad died? When you got back from Hell? You've gotta let him figure shit out on his own, Dean."

Dean's jaw clenched and, for a moment, Sam worried he had pushed too far. A soft snort escaped his brother, rather than the expected explosion. He simply looked defeated. "Yeah, well, he's gonna leave sooner or later. Always does," he said gruffly, suddenly finding a loose thread on his sleeve far more interesting than looking at his little brother.

Sam felt a wave of sympathy for him, though he knew better than to let it show. He kicked Dean's boot gently with his own. "You know, you could always do this crazy thing and, I dunno, _talk_ to him."

Dean shot him a Look; not quite as good as one of his own, but Dean was catching on. "Shut your face, Sammy. You can talk to him if you want. Have a tea party; braid each other's hair."

"I'll teach him to make kale chips too," Sam replied, a cheeky grin spreading across his face at Dean’s lighter tone.

"Christ."

Sam clapped his brother on the shoulder with a laugh and made his way back to the kitchen. Cas was where they’d left him, writing in a notebook and occasionally tapping the laptop's touchpad to scroll through the news articles. He barely spared Sam a glance as he took a seat next to him.

Sam was used to Cas’ stoicism, both pre and post Fall, but lately Cas had leaned toward moodiness and biting irritability, sometimes snapping with a temper that gave Sam pause. For his own sake, Cas hoped he was at least on his second cup of coffee.

"What do you think?" Sam ventured, surreptitiously peeking a glance at Cas’ notebook. "I'm thinking witch or maybe a shifter?"

Cas took a long sip of his coffee and frowned at the empty mug before pushing the notebook at Sam. "Could be," he rumbled. "I've cross-referenced the dates of the murders and previous canine competitions the victims have attended." He clicked over to a different tab, displaying a list of dates for the dog shows. "All the victims attended shows on these dates, barring the deceased ones, of course. If the killer stays with the pattern, the next victim will likely be in Springfield, Massachusetts this Friday."

The media was portraying what they had dubbed the "Best In Show" murders as simple rivalry, the murderer likely attempting to eliminate the competition any way possible. Sam doubted a human would go to blowing up the competition for a dog show win. Still, he had seen the movie and if it was anything to go by, dog show people were a little off in general. None of the victims had anything in common except being regulars on the northeast dog show circuit. They all owned different breeds, had different win records, and no obvious similarities in their personal lives.

"We'd have to leave first thing in the morning," Sam mused, typing directions into the laptop. "It's a full day's drive even with minimal stops. I'll call Charlie and see if she wants to hold down the fort with Kevin."

He hesitated and studied Cas for a moment. Dark circles filled in under the angel's eyes and lines of exhaustion crossed his face. He looked like he hadn't slept properly since he fell. "Cas, man, how are you? I told Dean to back off."

Cas shrugged one shoulder, a movement Sam recognised from Dean. "It's in Dean's nature to worry about things he cannot control. As for myself, humanity is tedious, but I'm getting accustomed to that," he said carefully.

Certain emotional constipation was contagious at this point, Sam internally heaved a sigh. "You can talk to me, you know. I'm your friend too, Cas. If I can help, let me; no questions asked."

Cas’ blue gaze regarded him steadily before dropping to study the empty coffee mug. "Thank you, Sam.” He traced the rim of the mug with one finger and rested his chin on the palm of his other hand. "I'd like to go with you on this hunt, if you'll have me. I'm afraid I won't be as useful as I once was, but I'm certain I'm still capable in a fight."

"Of course, man. You're still good with a sword, right?"

A strangled noise accompanied the offended expression. "Sam, I've been a warrior for several millennia. I may be mortal now, but I'm still proficient in armed combat."

Sam grinned behind his coffee mug as he took a sip of the now tepid liquid. "I was kidding, Cas. I need someone to help keep Dean in line anyway."

"I'm afraid that may require divine intervention," Cas replied with a snort as he rose to his feet, still all sinuous grace. He met Sam's gaze as a sly smile crossed his face. "Which of us gets to tell Dean he's going to be trapped in a building with over a thousand dogs this weekend?”

Yeah, Dean had met his match, all right, in the form of one surprisingly wiseass fallen angel. "All you, man," Sam managed to get out between laughing fits. "I'll video it for blackmail."

"Coward."


	2. Take Me To Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Free Will heads up to Massachusetts and Dean reflects on his relationship, for lack of a better term, with Castiel. Cas has other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING CHANGE - HERE BE SMUT
> 
> Chapters are going to be longer from here on out, chapter warnings include shower sex, dom/sub undertones/power play, pining!Dean, and Massachusetts drivers.

Part Two 

They were forty minutes outside of Kansas on the Nebraska side before Dean stopped complaining. Being stuck in a car with Sammy and Cas now ranked up there with Toyotas, boy bands, and carrot cake on Dean's list of Terrible Ideas, despite his previous wish for his brother and angel to become friends. Apparently when they bonded they needed a day locked in a sweaty car with dogs and witches at the end of the shitty, shitty rainbow.

The assholes in question were ignoring Dean's internalized pain; Sam was scrolling through his phone and taking careful notes. Cas was tucked in the back seat, engrossed in a new app on the recently acquired iPhone they’d gotten for him.

Dean hated them both.

"Stop brooding," Charlie's voice barked at him through the speaker of his phone. "Are you guys planning on stopping for the night or just switching off until you get to Massachusetts?"

Shifting his gaze from where it had fallen on Cas in the rearview mirror, Dean scowled and focused back on the long stretch of highway ahead of him.

"I'm not brooding, I'm driving," he protested. "We're gonna stop for some food and gas, but we're looking at switching off driving. If you hear of three dudes dying in a horrible accident between here and Massachusetts, it's because Cas was driving."

 _That_ earned him an icy glare from the back seat and Dean repressed the instinctual shiver it wrung from him.

"I'm still surprised you're letting him drive. You won't even let _me_ touch your car and I've at least been driving over a decade."

Dean sighed and adjusted his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he attempted to ease the neck cramp the position was causing. "Yeah, well, it was either that or me and Sam drive twelve hours each," he grumbled. “This is bullshit anyway. Sam only wants to take this case because he wants a puppy.”

“Puppies are cute, Dean! A dog might be nice to have around; you could probably pick up some hot girl with a puppy as your wingman and guys definitely aren’t immune to their charms either,” Charlie pointed out.

“Try getting torn apart by Hellhounds and then tell me puppies are still cute!” Dean snapped.

Sam glanced over at him, brow creasing in concern.

With a deep breath, Dean flipped his brother off and changed the subject. "What've you got for us for a motel near the showgrounds?"

Kevin's voice murmured something in the background.

Charlie laughed and yelled something about "hordes" back. "Sorry, new Warcraft expansion. We've got a couple twenty-four packs of Mountain Dew and it is _on_ , bitches," she said by way of explanation. "Anyway. I booked you guys a room at the Bel Air Inn in West Springfield. It's not too far from The Big E where the show's being held, but they only had one double available, no singles. The lady said the beds were queens and there was a pull out cot though, so I figure you can flip for the cot or snuggle up to your feathery angel man."

The Impala swerved and Sam let out an undignified yelp as he dropped his phone and reached to brace himself on the dash. Deep Enochian cursing drifted up from the back seat and Dean decided if Hell wanted him back, now would be a fantastic time.

"Dammit, Charlie," Dean growled into the phone, shooting an apologetic glance into the rearview mirror and flipping his brother off with his free hand.

"Sorry, I forgot you were still in denial land about icky feelings."

"One, I told you we were never going to talk about that, ever. Two, even if we _did_ talk about that, now is not the time!" he hissed.

"Whatever. When you're ready to admit you deserve some lovin', let me know. I've got a bet going."

"I don't want to know."

Charlie laughed. "Text me when you hit New England and I'll send you the deets on the motel and the expo centre. Tell Sasquatch and Hot Wings I said to keep you in line; no smoochin' on all the hot ladies and fellas without me."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled, his foul mood uplifted a bit by Charlie's infectious optimism. "Keep an eye on Kevin. No keggers."

"You wish. Later, handmaiden."

"Bye, Your Highnessness." Dean hung up the phone and shoved it back in his pocket.

One glance at his brother's smirk had his blood pressure rising again, despite Charlie's attempts to soothe it. "Not a fucking word," he growled, leaning harder on the gas pedal.

The Impala's engine roared, drowning out the sound of Sam's laughter.

~*~*~*~

They made good time with a little under a day on the road. Driving in shifts with one person co-piloting and the third napping in the back had been successful, though Dean insisted Cas only be allowed to drive the long stretches of 80/90, much to the angel's obvious irritation. Dean was used to the few roadtrip squabbles, thankfully mostly consisting of Cas snarking back at Dean's jabs and he and Sam getting into a spectacular shouting match during a game of "Never Have I Ever" while Cas took the wheel through Ohio.

Sam's snoring from the backseat was the only thing punctuating the silence as the Impala darted in and out of traffic along the Massachusetts turnpike into Springfield. He was folded up in what had to be an uncomfortable position amid a pile of blankets, a beanie covering most of his long hair and over his eyes as he slept.

The motel was only about ten miles away and Dean couldn't decide if he wanted a bed or a massive cheeseburger more. He shifted uncomfortably in the driver's seat and rolled his shoulders, unable to clear the knot that had been steadily forming under his shoulder blades for the past several hours.

Cas glanced over at him from the passenger seat, concern and curiosity showing on his normally impassive features. "You're in pain," he said quietly, the rough timbre of his voice barely breaking through Sam's monstrous snoring.

"Spending a full day in the car will do that to a guy," Dean returned, keeping his voice low to allow his brother to continue to sleep. "I ain't getting any younger."

"I'm not sure how aging backward would assist in this particular situation." Castiel's brow furrowed and he reached out to press lightly along the tops of Dean's shoulders.

Deft fingers found a tight area of muscle and Dean flinched away from the touch reflexively before settling back. He spared Cas a quick look – a mistake, judging by the way heat flushed through his body at Cas’ intense stare – and dropped his right hand from the steering wheel in silent permission.

The fingers returned, probing the knot of muscle and kneading firmly but gently. He resisted the urge to let his head fall back and instead let out a quiet groan as Cas continued with his massage. The angel still had an uncanny knack for picking up on Dean's emotions and zeroing in on areas of discomfort and pain; if he hadn't known any better, he'd swear Cas still had a bit of Grace left.

"We there yet?" Sam's sleep-roughened voice floated up from the backseat.

Dean swore and lurched away from Cas’ touch.

He glared at his brother in the rearview mirror as Sam sat up and pushed the beanie up off his eyes. "Would have been if people in this fucking state knew how to drive," Dean grumbled, returning his free hand back to the steering wheel with excessive force.

"The local drivers seem to be comfortably reckless," Cas chimed in, having resumed his earlier position of apparent nonchalance.

"You mean cutting me off every ten freakin' seconds."

"Twelve and a half on average," Cas deadpanned.

Dean shot him a glare and received only a cocked eyebrow in return. Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat; it was downright unfair the way Cas could rattle him.

Sam snorted and leaned forward to look over Cas’ shoulder at his phone. "Bel Air Inn, right? Charlie confirmed the booking?"

Dean grunted an affirmative and took the exit, flipping the driver tailgating the Impala the bird as the sedan accelerated past. "What's our cover, anyway? The real Feds might be on the case already since it's multiple states. Journalists?"

"What's wrong with just going as us? As spectators?"

Dean rolled his eyes and scanned the road for the motel's sign. "Told you, Cas. When humans want something, we lie. Dudes like us don't go wandering around a dog show asking about poodles and murder, man, c'mon."

"No, no, I think Cas has a point," Sam ventured. "I had an Australian Shepherd with Amelia when you guys were, uh."

Dean shot his brother a glare and Cas stiffened in his seat. Sam cleared his throat and wisely hurried on. "I mean, the public comes to these things to ask about puppies and different breeds, right? I can talk to some Aussie people about the first victim as she was involved in that breed. We can pretend we're interested in puppies and narrowing down what we're looking for."

Dean swung the Impala into the motel parking lot and cast a dubious eye on the massive van taking up the neighbouring space. A pair of teens ran from the van into a room, water sloshing from the metal pails they carried. With a noise akin to a growl, Dean slumped forward and let his head rest on the steering wheel. This had better be a quick and easy case or he was going to need to stock up on more whiskey before the weekend was over.

He waved a hand in Sam's direction. "Fine. Whatever. You and Cas can coo over little fluffy shit-rats, but I swear on Mom's grave that if any of those hairy bastards pee on my car, I'm driving back to Kansas alone."

They collectively groaned as they exited the Impala and stretched stiff limbs. Cas grumbled to himself in Enochian as he rolled his neck and flexed his shoulders. Sam wordlessly ambled off to the office to pick up the keys as Dean fiddled with his phone to look up cheap places to eat. He didn't particularly care what kind of food he found so long as it could be delivered. Time on the road was getting harder and harder, his years as a hunter doing no favours to his aging body; not that he’d ever admit it – especially to Sam.

"Pizza," Cas murmured from just behind Dean's shoulder, startling him. "Meat lover’s with extra bacon, and something with feta and spinach for Sam."

"Fine, but you're getting your own damn pizza. You're a walking garbage disposal."

"Hypocrisy doesn't suit you, Dean." Cas' retort was low in Dean's ear, warm breath ghosting over his skin.

Dean _did_ shiver then, not bothering to fight the spark of lust that shot through him. Perhaps Dean could get Sam to pick up the pizzas. Twenty minutes and a shower stall would be enough time to take the edge off the tension. An hour and a bed would be better, but Dean wasn't about to complain.

Cas' hand tightened almost painfully on Dean's upper arm before releasing him as Sam made his way back to the Impala. Mentally trying to reverse his blood's sudden trip south of the border, Dean shook Cas off and tossed the keys to his brother. Time to get rid of the cock block.

"Since Feathers and I had to sit through you sawing logs for the past two and a half hours, you can go run to Domino's, Sammy," Dean barked out, proud at how well he hid the hitch in his voice. "Three larges: two meat lovers' with extra bacon and whatever girly health food shit you want to use to desecrate yours."

Sam scowled, his features morphing into Bitchface #4. "Whatever, but I'm not taking the cot." He pointedly handed Castiel the keys with the numbers 4A printed on the label. "I'll get the damned pizzas, just try not to use up all the hot water before I get back."

"I'll do my utmost to encourage sensible water usage," Cas offered blandly as he carefully tucked the spare into Dean's front jacket pocket. "But do hurry. Dean implied that I can't control myself when I'm hungry."

The hand that had dipped into Dean's jacket pocket slid out and around his waist, hidden from Sam’s sight as it gripped his ass. Dean's jaw clenched as he bit back a rather unmanly squeak. The promise of getting Cas alone was driving him crazy; Sam needed to be gone right-fucking-now.

Smiling tightly at his brother, Dean waved a hand toward the Impala. "You heard the man. Grab some grub before we have to sit through another half hour rant about how unsanitary and helpless humans are."

Sam rolled his eyes, but climbed back into the Impala without complaint. With a steadiness that belied his racing heart, Dean casually turned toward the motel as Castiel unlocked the door and entered the room. Cas at least had the foresight to grab a couple of duffel bags out of the trunk, Dean noticed. The luggage in question went thumping to the floor as Dean was slammed against the cold metal of the motel room door. As the surge of desire lanced through him, he would have been hard pressed to remember his name, let alone how he’d ended up moaning as Cas held him roughly.

Not that he was complaining about having six feet of lust-crazed angel pressed into him. Really, he wasn't.

Truth was, Dean wasn't entirely sure where this whole thing with Cas was going, or if it was even going anywhere. He knew where it had started – too much tequila and years of pent up sexual tension – but the morning after, when they woke up in a naked tangle of limbs, neither had said a word. That hadn’t helped; in fact, it had set an unspoken rule Dean couldn’t bring himself to break: first rule of fucking a fallen angel – don’t talk about fucking a fallen angel.

Now, a couple of weeks since Cas had last initiated whatever this thing was between them, it had gone on for far too long without either of them actually discussing it – not that there was any amount of alcohol in the world that would get Dean to get all Dr. Phil about it.

Some part of Dean's brain that was still capable of rational thought – because in the name of all that was holy, where the _fuck_ did an angel of all creatures learn to kiss like that? – piped up that it may have been worth noting that Cas was getting more aggressive. The growls coming from his throat were almost feral as he claimed Dean's lips and dug his fingers into the curve of his hip bones.

"Shower," Dean managed to gasp out between whimpers as Cas moved to attack his neck and jaw, leaving open mouthed kisses and sharp nips in his wake. "Cas, shower, we don't have a lot of time to work with before Sam gets back."

A strong hand gripped the back of Dean's neck, spinning him around and marching him toward the bathroom. "Move faster, then,” Cas replied and shoved Dean through the doorway.

Dean stumbled against the sink, one hand scrabbling for purchase on the basin while the other hastily pulled at his belt buckle.

Cas had somehow managed to unbutton his shirt one-handed while shoving Dean into the bathroom. One eyebrow arched at Dean's fumbling. "Do you require assistance?"

"No, fuck you," Dean grumbled. He managed to work the belt buckle open and shrugged off his outer shirt as Castiel finished stripping. His word choice was probably a mistake with Cas as worked up as he was, but Dean wasn't just gonna roll over.

Pulling off his socks and tossing them to the side, Dean was pleased he’d managed to get naked without any embarrassing accidents. Considering how much Cas made him fucking tremble, he wasn’t too surprised at his own lack of bravado. Dean straightened, looking Cas in the eye as his cock stood up and paid attention. He tried not to shiver as Cas’ blue gaze raked over his body and groaned at the press of Castiel’s warm flesh against his.

Dean fumbled blindly around Cas’ body for the shower knob and managed to twist it on. The water hissed to life behind the pair just as Castiel seemed to lose what little patience he had. Biting sharply into Dean's lower lip, Cas spun him around and into the shower. Dean was pressed face first into the tiled wall, swearing as Cas' hand gripped the back of his neck and held him firmly in place. "Jesus, Cas, watch it!"

"Do not speak unless you're begging or asking me to stop," Cas growled in his ear. "I'm sure I can find far better uses for your mouth if you insist on running it."

Dean gasped as Cas' free hand snaked around his body and wrapped around his straining flesh. Cas plastered himself against Dean's back and ground against his ass, wrenching another groan out of Dean’s throat.

That was how he wanted to play the game? Dean Winchester could absofuckinglutely do quick and dirty. He flattened his palms against the wall and thrust his hips back into Cas’.

Steam rose around their bodies as Cas’ cock slipped into the cleft of Dean's ass. Cas rutted against him and mouthed at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. With Sam due back at any time, speed was a necessity over comfort. There wasn't much use fighting Cas' iron grip on his neck, so Dean let himself sink into the pleasure and submitted to the brutal pace that had been set. If he had his way, they'd be on the bed with Cas buried deep inside him and rumbling words of praise and adoration at Dean's easy submission into his ear. Perhaps tomorrow, or even later tonight if they got an hour or two alone.

"Fuck, Cas, please," Dean bit out as the blunt head of Cas' erection nudged at his entrance. He was embarrassingly close to the edge as he rocked forward into Cas' hand. A bit of manhandling and rough sex had always pressed his buttons and there was no one better at it than Cas.

Cas' breath came in harsh pants as he took his pleasure from Dean's body. "You will come before me," Cas managed to grunt between kisses and bites, "or you will not come at all. I suggest you hurry."

Well fuck. At least he was so worked up that it wouldn't take much more effort to get him to come. A whine escaped from the back of his throat as Cas' thumb swiped over the head of his cock, rubbing just along the ridge.

“Tell me what you want, Dean.”

Fingers slipping against the wall, Dean pushed himself back into Cas’ body. The steady rhythm of Cas’ hand on his cock as the angel thrust against Dean’s ass was making it too difficult to concentrate on anything other than the pleasure coursing through his body. He tried to answer; Cas was demanding him to answer in That Voice, but all that came out was a breathy whimper.

Despite Cas' loss of Grace, he was still inhuman enough that Dean noticed the differences. Cas still retained superior strength and speed, though nowhere near the level he had when he still had his mojo. Some beaten down shred of self-preservation reminded him that Cas was dangerous, but the thought wasn’t as unpleasant as Dean expected it to be. That Cas wasn’t even human? It should’ve sent shame to twist up his guts, but really, on top of all the spectacularly fucked up shit that had gone on in his life, this wasn’t even on the radar.

“Dean,” Cas growled against his ear, nipping at the shell to draw his attention. “Tell me. Tell me what you need.”

“Fuck,” Dean hissed at the sharp frisson as Cas’ teeth trailed down his neck and sank into his shoulder. “ _You_ ,” he gasped. “Please, Cas, you.”

“Dean…” Cas said, his voice rough with desire and something else. Something that made his voice break as Cas breathed his name.

Then, abruptly, the moment was gone and Cas dragged his head back, giving Dean a thrill of pleasure as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Good boy,” Cas purred.

His words were like molten lead in Dean’s body, the heat lancing straight to his cock. One sharp tug was all that it took before he was spilling over Cas’ hand.

"Cas, _fuck_ ," Dean swore, his orgasm crashing through him as he thrust into the fist wrapped around him.

He let his head fall back against the fallen angel's shoulder, exposing the column of his throat. He was vaguely aware of Cas’ animalistic snarl into his neck as he found his own release. Spots danced in Dean’s vision and the water was suddenly too hot, too stifling. He nudged the still shuddering Cas back, realising belatedly that they had left their toiletries in the duffel bags. Too late now.

A washcloth was dragged across his spine then to his ass as Cas cleaned him. Dean turned around to look at him hesitantly.

Cas’ face was back to its usual stoic impassivity but his eyes were soft as he met Dean's. Long fingers traced sore spots left by Cas' teeth – likely bruises; if Dean was lucky, his shirt collar would cover them but t-shirts would likely be out of the question for a few days.

Dean cleared his throat. "Well, I, uh, don't know 'bout you, but I could really go for that pizza," he said, voice still a bit breathless.

Cas' stomach rumbled and he scowled down at his rebellious anatomy as Dean eased the tension with a bark of laughter. Dean twisted around Cas' body to shut the tap off and fought the urge to wrap himself around his body for comfort, for affection, for reassurance.

They didn’t do chick flick moments. The fuck-and-run left a bad taste in his mouth; Dean had quietly savoured cuddle time with past partners. It sucked that Cas had avoided any physical contact other than sex. With an awkward pat to Cas’ shoulder, Dean resigned himself to taking his cold comfort from the depths of a pizza box.


	3. Pavlov's Bell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Cas go to check out the show site and reflect on their current situations. Dean gets more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: slight angst, spanking, mutual pining. 
> 
> Chapter title from "Pavlov's Bell" by Aimee Mann.
> 
> Let me know what folks think - I'm on tumblr under @feathers-and-cigarettes :)

Part Three

"Hey, get this."

Dean groaned from across the room and buried his face further under the pillow.

On the cot, Cas remained dead to the world with the empty pizza box balanced precariously between his legs and the edge of the bed. The angel had managed to demolish the entire large pizza and steal a slice of Dean's, prompting another shouting match between the pair. Sam was mildly concerned about Cas’ appetite, irritability, and laziness – even taking into account the species difference – but more importantly, he was getting sick of playing referee. Banishing them both to naps had been the most effective solution. One day he wouldn't have to babysit his older brother and a billion year old supernatural creature; today apparently wasn't that day. 

Picking up a pen, Sam chucked it at his brother. "Dean!"

"You can't give me two fuckin' hours, Sam? Really?" Dean snatched the pillow away from his face and glared at Sam. "We just drove an entire goddamn day. Put down the laptop, take a freakin' shower; you still smell like road funk for chrissake."

"I will in a minute, but hear me out first? Cas, wake up, you need to hear this too."

One blue eye cracked open as Dean's scowl deepened. At least he sort of had their attention. That was good enough.

"So, at first glance, none of the vics have anything in common; they all have different breeds in different groups, some are professionals, some owners, some breeders. A few of the dogs they showed on the day of their murder were top winning animals, but not all. If we add in the co-owners, however, we're looking at top names with top dogs."

"Wait, co-owners? There are multiple owners?"

"Yeah, some of these dogs have up to five owners listed. It's a way for breeders to keep breeding rights on the dogs without overwhelming themselves with tons of dogs in the house. Some are even just financial backers: people who want to say they own a show dog without actually living with or taking care of the dog."

"Fucking dog people, man." Dean sat up, brow furrowed in thought. "So it's a jealousy thing? Eliminating the competition? Could be human after all."

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. The murders themselves sound witchy to me. Maybe a jealous competitor turning to witchcraft?"

Cas’ eye had shut once more, but the quickened breathing indicated he was still awake.

"This case just keeps getting better and better. Fucking witches. We're stocking up on hand sanitizer later."

Shutting his laptop, Sam rose from the table and stretched, attempting to work the stiffness out of his long limbs. A run was definitely on his schedule for later, maybe a bit of yoga. "They're supposed to let exhibitors in today to set up. Maybe we can sneak in and grab a catalogue? I'm thinking we get in for seven tomorrow morning. The first breeds go on at eight, so that'll give us a chance to talk. I'll work the Aussie angle, maybe you two talk to people with Belgian Malinois? The last victim was a breeder and handler for that breed."

Dean flopped back onto the pillow and covered his face with his hands. "Fine, but they better be lazy drool buckets. I ain't dealing with attack dogs. Get in the shower. I'm gonna try to squeeze in some more naptime in the hour it takes you to wash your hair."

Sam grinned to himself as he pulled a change of clothes from his duffel and headed for the bathroom. If Dean didn't want to do his research, that was on him.

~*~*~*~

Sneaking into the Better Living Centre at the Big E turned out to be easier than Sam had thought, even with Cas tagging along as his wingman. Dean had opted to hit a bar in the hopes of smooth talking some show circuit regulars and adamantly refused to take Cas along. To his credit, Cas hadn't argued, merely fixed Dean with a look that had even Sam shifting nervously. Once at the expo centre with a newly acquired weekend parking pass, Sam parked the Impala next to the Mallory building and he and Cas walked the short distance to the main building. From there, they only had to offer help lugging in collapsible wire crates to a harried looking young woman with a rental van to gain access to the building.

"I really appreciate the help, you two," the woman babbled as she juggled a tote bag and a portable force dryer in her arms. "My boss was supposed to help me set all this up but one of the dogs got sick on the way here and she's been trying to get ahold of the owner so we can bring him to the vet."

She shouldered open Door 8 and pressed her back against it, letting Sam and Cas enter first with the bulky crates. A trilling ringtone came from the depths of her tote and she swore, nearly dropping the force dryer.

"I've gotta get this, it's probably my boss. We're right by the sign in for Ring 6, look for the grooming tables with the purple towels and the chairs with the Newfies on them. Tell the girl there that Tracie sent you."

Cas shifted his grip on one of the crates and shuffled awkwardly to match Sam's stride. "What's a Newfie?"

"Newfoundland. Big hairy dog, lots of drool," Sam replied, happy that his childhood obsession with dogs was finally paying off.

He spotted Ring 6 in the centre of the massive room. Vendors were setting up along the wall, forming the outer ring along with the concession stand/kitchen and the restrooms. The middle ring was all crates and grooming equipment with handlers bustling about, putting tables together and bantering back and forth across the sections. Beyond the grooming areas and in the very centre of the room were the show rings themselves, six of them, sectioned off with short gates and each labeled. A photographer was arguing heatedly with a woman in a sundress near the show rings and gesturing wildly to a bland blue backdrop while several others milled about with boxes among the six rings.

A girl of about fifteen or sixteen sat in a collapsible chair with an embroidered Newfoundland on the back, proclaiming "Cloudburst Newfoundlands" underneath. She looked up from her phone as Sam and Cas approached and eyed them suspiciously. "You're not with that bitch Linda, are you?"

Sam set the two crates down next to the grooming table and shook his head. "Tracie sent us to help bring these in for you guys. I'm Sam, this is my friend Cas."

"Melanie," the girl replied, shoving her phone in the pocket of her shorts and hauling herself out of the chair to take one of the crates from Cas. "Tracie's my sister. I was worried we were gonna be stuck here forever setting up when Beth said she was staying behind to take Cruiser to the vet."

Cas nudged Sam with his elbow. "I'm going to go see if I can find a catalogue," he murmured, striding off toward the club volunteers and ring stewards.

"Your boyfriend's kinda weird."

"He's not my boyfriend," Sam laughed. "He's practically my older brother and he's a bit awkward sometimes, yeah."

Melanie rolled her eyes and waved at Tracie who was making her way to the setup. "Straight guys are a myth at dog shows, don't you know that?"

"I'll keep it in mind." Sam took the force dryer from Tracie and set it down under the grooming table. "Everything okay with the dog?"

Tracie sighed and unfolded one of the heavy wire crates and hauled it into place. "Cruiser's fine; his owner forgot to send us an extra week's supply of food for him, so we fed him the same brand that the other dogs eat. Turns out he has a fish intolerance." Her face wrinkled into a grimace. "Good news is he's feeling better, bad news is it's going to take forever to get his coat show-ready for tomorrow. You ever try to get yellow vomit out of a white coat? Figures it'd have to be our one Landseer and not any of the three blacks."

Sam started on the second crate and suppressed a faint grin. "I had an Aussie that liked swamps. My girlfriend used to say he was a green merle rather than blue."

His smile wavered briefly. Amelia. They had spoken twice on the phone since Sam made his decision in Texas to grant her a normal - and likely a longer – life by cutting her out of his. Not a day went by that he didn't miss her and wonder if he had made the right decision. The first phone call was to make sure she was okay shortly after he regained consciousness after the trials. She had been surprised to hear from him and, to Sam's shock, hadn't immediately hung up on him. The second call Amelia had initiated, drunk and at around three in the morning. She and Don had mutually split. Two hours of skirting around the truth later, and Sam was able to hang up feeling relieved, if not a little hopeful. They had exchanged sporadic texts ever since and Sam was reminded of the depth of his feelings for her with every message.

The truth was though, Sam wasn’t sure if he wanted to get out of the hunting life anymore. He and Dean had finally managed to gain some ground against the forces of Heaven and Hell, but there was still more work to be done. In another time, another place, he could easily see himself settling down with Amelia, but could he drag her into a life like his? After all the trauma she had been through already? He wasn’t sure. The guilt gnawed at his gut for not sticking with his initial decision to cut off contact with her, despite the hope and joy her continued presence brought him.

Rising to his feet, Sam pushed the assembled crate next to the others. He caught Cas' eye as the angel dodged around yelling exhibitors and jerked his head toward the door. Offering his hand to Tracie, he smiled at her and Melanie. "Good luck tomorrow, you two. We should get going and let you get back to work. What time will you be showing?"

"Ten thirty, straight in," Tracie replied, shaking Sam's hand and returning his smile. "If you guys don't have ring conflicts, you should stop by. We have Open Juniors at eleven thirty if you want to watch Melanie trip over Chance."

"I only did that once. You're such a bitch!"

Cas tilted his head at Tracie, perhaps going for innocent but instead looking like some confused and perpetually cranky sparrow. "Though I'm sure we'll see you tomorrow, would you happen to know of anyone with Belgian Malinois? My partner and I were interested in the breed."

Sam coughed violently and waved off Cas' raised eyebrow. Partner? Dean was going to love this. Cas likely had no idea what he was implying without their FBI cover, and Sam wasn't about to correct him. This alone would be worth the price of the show admission.

"Kim Dunn has a nice bitch that was just returned to her a couple months ago," Tracie replied, casting a wary eye at the still wheezing Sam. "Her setup is over by the Hogan Leather vendor. She'll have a couple juniors and a good-sized string of German Shepherds along with the Mal bitch; you can't miss her."

Cas nodded sagely, clearly still oblivious to his misstep. "We will look for her, thank you."

"No problem. Kim's a great person so don't be put off by her," Tracie said with a grin. "Shepherd people are a little... intense, I guess. And whatever you do, don't let her talk you into trying her Baystaters drink. Last time she brought those out, Beth got lost in Old Orchard Beach for five hours."

"Intense is a nice way of saying 'loudmouthed drunks,' Trace," Melanie huffed. "Abbie's nice though. Too bad I'm gonna kick her ass in Juniors tomorrow. She should never have picked that psycho dog to work with. Her loss." She flopped back into the collapsible chair with a smug expression.

"Storm isn't psycho, she just has too much drive and not enough brains," Tracie sighed as she tossed a towel at her sister. "We've got Newfies to bathe though, so we won't keep chatting your ears off. Go rescue that brother of yours and if I see Kim before tomorrow I'll let you know you're going to stop by."

"I appreciate it, Tracie," Cas replied, sketching an awkward bow.

Sam waved goodbye and turned to head back out to the parking lot, Cas walking several paces behind. There was too much foot traffic and too many entrances to the building to realistically cover everything and there were far too many potential victims to start checking for hex bags. They needed more information and Sam had no idea how to start narrowing down their options other than talking to as many people as they could. With any luck, Dean and Cas could stow their crap for a day or two and avoid causing a scene while they worked.

Sending Cas around the opposite side of the building to note security and do a preliminary hex bag check, Sam pulled the EMF detector out of his pocket and fiddled with it. Ghosts or spirits were an unlikely suspect at this point, but he wasn’t ready to rule anything out quite yet. At least the weather was cooperating; New England weather was notoriously finicky, even in the summer, and Sam had been half expecting storms.

He raised his face to the late afternoon sun and smiled as he walked. He needed this; needed to be back on the job, hunting regular creatures – not dealing with Heaven or Hell. This was what he was raised to do.

His mind kept being drawn back to Amelia as he walked. She would have fit right in here, seeing all the beautiful animals and talking shop with her fellow dog people.

Hesitating, Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at it for a moment before resolutely tapping a name on his contact list.

“Sam? This is a surprise. Is everything all right?”

A smile spread across Sam’s face as he heard Amelia’s voice. “Hey, yeah, everything’s fine,” he replied, keeping one eye on his EMF detector and walking forward again. “Was just thinking about you and wanted to, uh, call and say hi.”

“Oh yeah?” Amelia’s voice was hedged with a little caution and possibly excitement? Sam couldn’t tell. “What’re you up to?”

“Dog show, believe it or not. I was telling one of the people here about Riot’s swamp adventures.”

Amelia snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not sure he would make a great show dog. Why the sudden interest in dog shows? Thinking about getting a puppy?”

“Nah, I’m with my brother and our friend Cas. We’re, uh,” Sam’s mind grasped for words and some believable excuse. “We’re looking at some different breeds,” he finished lamely. “And I’m kind of babysitting both of them so they don’t kill each other.”

“Sounds interesting, for sure. Where’s the show being held?”

“Massachusetts,” Sam said without thinking.

A long silence stretched out before Amelia spoke again. “Long way since Texas, huh?”

Sam mentally kicked himself. He desperately wanted to tell her the truth, tell her _something_ of the real Sam Winchester, but if something happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. More lies were needed, for now, at least.

“Road trips are kind of a family thing,” he said. “New England has some pretty good seafood, but I think I’ll always prefer Texas or the Midwest.”

“We have better barbeque; you can keep your seafood.” Amelia paused for a minute, and Sam could hear her car’s engine start. “Well, if you need anything, shoot me a text. I did a few shows when I was a kid in 4H; I’m not the best but if you don’t want to sound like a total newbie, I can help,” she said with a small laugh.

Sam grinned. “I’d appreciate that. Thanks, Ames.”

“I’d chat more, but I’m on for an overnight shift. You guys have fun and try not to kill each other?”

“Will do.”

“And Sam? Just call me if you need to, y’know, really chat or something?”

Sam clicked the EMF detector off and leaned against the side of the building. “I will, I promise. Same thing to you. Go save some lives.”

Amelia’s returning laugh was easier, more genuine. “I’ll do my best. Talk to you later, Sam.”

Smiling, Sam ended the call and stared at Amelia’s contact photo for a moment longer. He felt like a teenager again, heart beating a rapid tempo in his chest at every phone call with her. He had it bad, he was the first to admit it, but he desperately wanted it to continue.

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Sam switched the EMF detector back on and continued his sweep with a much lighter step and clearer head.

“You seem relaxed,” Cas said slowly as he met Sam back at Door 8. He tossed him a small leather bundle tied with twine. “Hex bag by Door 2, hidden by the exercise pens in some wood shavings. Looks like we were correct about witches. You should probably stop being relaxed now; it could be any of these people.”

Sam grimaced and dug a ziploc bag out of the pocket of his jeans. Untying the twine, he dumped the contents into the plastic bag and sealed it. “Yeah, this isn’t going to be easy.”

He reached out to clap Cas on the shoulder and the angel ducked away, avoiding the contact. Ever since the Fall, Cas had avoided physical contact like the plague and Sam felt guilty every time he forgot.

“Dean’s going to be fun to deal with. Do you think you can avoid murdering him for a couple of days? If he gets too bad, we can trade off; I don’t mind him taking it out on me.”

“I can handle it, Sam, but I appreciate your concern.”

Sam studied him for a moment as they walked back toward the Mallory building. “Do you think you’ll, y’know, talk to him?”

Cas stiffened and Sam continued, resolutely ignoring the warning signs. “Dude, I know he’s a pain in the ass, but I know you guys care about each other. Probably more than I’ll ever know. You’re good for him, Cas, and I think he’s good for you. So, just, whatever it is that’s between you, think about if it’s worth missing out on if you guys won’t ever talk about it.”

Cas’ jaw was clenched into a tight line, his body a livewire ready to spark. “There is nothing to talk about, Dean has made that clear.”

“You can’t think that, Cas. You’ve known Dean for five years, you’ve seen his soul; you have to know he’s in love-“

“Enough, Sam!” Cas roared, rounding on him with a speed and ferocity that had Sam flashing back to a fully charged seraph Castiel. All he was missing was the trenchcoat and blue-white glow in his eyes. Even dressed as he was in faded jeans and a dark blue plaid short sleeved shirt, Castiel was an imposing figure.

“What is between Dean and myself is frankly none of your business. I will ensure it does not affect the job; I’m well aware of what is at stake here. Do not bring it up again.”

Sam held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, taking a step back from the shorter man. “Okay, alright. Just know you’re just as much my family as Dean is and I’m worried about you. I’ll leave it alone,” he said, keeping his voice soft in hopes of placating Castiel’s wrath.

Castiel glared for a moment longer before turning and stalking toward the Impala.

Letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, Sam shook his head. A frown twisted his features. He toyed briefly with the idea of texting Charlie and Kevin and calling the bet off under the grounds that Cas wasn’t handling the emotional stress of, well, having emotions and shouldn’t be pushed. Dean didn’t do feelings either, but Sam knew how much he could poke the bear in the case of his brother. Castiel might get dangerous if he overstepped in his attempts to push the two together.

Digging his phone out of his pocket, Sam sent a quick text to the pair at the bunker regarding notes on fallen angels and moodiness or emotional instability as he hurried after Cas’ retreating form. Just one more thing to add to the pile of crap he already had to pick through.

~*~*~*~

Castiel’s hands were trembling and he couldn’t understand why. Logically, he knew the adrenaline coursing through his nervous system was the culprit, that it was merely his vessel’s response to anger, but it was something else entirely to actually _feel_ that response. His heart pounded in his chest and he took deep, steady breaths to control his rapidly rising blood pressure. Humans were so fragile if mere emotions could exact such a toll on their bodies. The thought frightened Castiel, more than he wanted to admit. Wrath had previously made him strong, made his Grace sing, and heightened his senses for battle in the name of God. Now, the untethered rage twisted inside him, corrupting and rotting him from within. Why would his Father create such delicate creatures?

He reached the Impala and shut himself into the passenger side. The familiar scent of leather and _Dean_ soothed his buzzing nerves and he leaned against the door. Castiel had been given one gift, the Righteous Man, to watch over and protect.

Now he couldn’t even have an argument without feeling weak. Instead of protecting Dean, he had brought him to the brink of death on more than one occasion. His recent mortality couldn’t be blamed for his more base desires when it came to Dean; even with his Grace he hadn’t been able to remain impassive, as an angel should. The man’s soul shone too brightly and Castiel couldn’t help but be drawn in. Slowly he had fallen for him, the force of Dean’s own human grace as inexorable as the Will of the Father. Lust had sank its claws into Castiel during the Apocalypse, but he never thought he’d fall so far as to act on it.

And now? Now he would taint Dean with his own depravity.

Needing to break out of his rapidly spiraling thoughts, he was halfway through a prayer before stopping himself in disgust. God didn’t care about His wayward son, the son that failed Him at every turn.

Dragging his hand through his hair, Castiel stared at himself in the side mirror. He squinted, trying to see himself beyond the visage of the late Jimmy Novak; were the creases at the corners of his eyes from him or had they always been there? Had his vessel aged that much since the loss of his Grace?

Deeply unsettled, Castiel shifted and examined his palms where he had dug his fingernails into them during his outburst. The tiny crescent shaped markings were tender, but should fade.

The driver’s side door opened and Sam folded himself smoothly into the seat next to him. Castiel tensed himself for another fight, but Sam seemed resolute in pretending nothing had occurred. That was acceptable; Castiel wasn’t entirely sure what to say to Sam anyway. It wasn’t as if a human could understand the weight of the ages that rested on Castiel’s shoulders.

They drove in silence down Memorial Avenue until Sam turned into a Cumberland Farms. Castiel blinked, his dark thoughts interrupted as the Impala’s engine cut off.

“I’m gonna go get some snacks,” Sam said. “You want anything?”

“Something sweet,” Castiel replied absently.

Sam nodded and shut the door behind him.

He waited for Sam to disappear into the convenience store before fumbling with the door handle and escaping the car. He strode around the building, out of sight of the other customers and employees. Frustration boiled just below the surface of his skin, suffocating him. He wanted to fly, to push his wings to their limits, to feel every particle in the air against his feathers. Without his wings he felt caged to the Earth, a bird – flightless now – stuck in captivity for the amusement of mortals.

A snarl ripped from his throat as he spun and slammed his fist against the dumpster. Pain lanced through his hand and up into his shoulder from the impact, startling him enough to make him pause and stare down at his bloody knuckles.

“Dude, are you on something?”

Castiel snapped his head around. An employee hesitated in the back doorway, a black trash bag dangling from her hand and a cell phone in the other. She eyed him suspiciously, fear in her eyes. Fear of him? A wave of shame rushed through him, dousing the fires of his rage. He was supposed to protect these people and his behaviour was no better than any of the monsters he had destroyed.

“Get outta here or I’ll call the cops,” the employee warned, raising her cell phone in warning.

Mumbling apologies and wiping his knuckles on his shirt, Castiel beat a hasty retreat back to the Impala. He needed to get himself under control and focus on the task at hand.

~*~*~*~

An hour and a half later, Sam had tentatively identified all the ingredients in the hex bag, burned the leather and twine, and set up a loose schedule for the following day using the catalogue Cas had smuggled out of the Better Living Centre. Arrive at seven in the morning, run an EMF sweep and chat with vendors before moving onto Aussies at eight with Dean and Cas waiting with Malinois and German Shepherds. With any luck, they’d be able to chat with the handler Tracie had recommended and get some information. Sam’s plan was to see if he could work his way in with some Aussie folks, then move to Ring 3 for Dobermans at nine-thirty in hopes of some insight into the second victim: an up and coming breeder and trainer. Though Newfoundlands weren’t one of the breeds that had seemingly been affected, Sam wanted to check Tracie and Melanie’s setup for hex bags and see if they or their boss, Beth, had heard anything through ringside gossip.

At least he was used to doing most of the footwork, that one year he didn’t have a soul notwithstanding.

Cas was lounging on the bed Dean had claimed, absently devouring his third bag of Skittles and flipping through a spellbook. “Hand me those feathers?” he asked. Sam looked over at him and tossed the plastic bag over.

Dumping the contents onto the bed, Cas picked up one of the long flight feathers and ran his fingertips almost reverently along the vane. “These are crow feathers, not raven, and some are just pigeon feathers that were dyed black,” he said, voice ending in a sneer. “The disrespect of the dyeing aside, the crow feathers would indicate this particular spell.” A smug look appeared on his face. “It’s almost laughably simple. Certainly nothing that requires a good deal of arcane knowledge or skill.”

“So you’re saying we’re up against the evil version of Sabrina the Teenage Witch?”

“The age of the witch is impossible to tell from the spell or ingredients. But yes, it’s entirely possible we’re dealing with an amateur.”

Sam grinned. “I think we’re about due for an easy one, don’t you think?”

He shut his laptop and checked his gun was loaded with the witch-killing bullets before tucking it into his waistband. Likely overkill if they were dealing with a novice, but Murphy’s Law had a habit of pummeling Winchesters for small oversights.

“Let’s go get Dean. Should have been enough time for him to get some information but not enough for him to cause a scene,” Sam said, grabbing the keys to the Impala off the table.

Cas’ snort told him exactly what the angel thought of that, but at least the mention of Dean’s name didn’t bring out Mr. Hyde like it had earlier that day.

~*~*~*~

The tavern they had dropped Dean off at was a little out of the way on Westfield Street, but the front desk attendant at the motel had assured them that it was one of the best places in West Springfield. Sam swung the Impala into the rear parking lot behind the building and squeezed into a space between two Subarus.

The bar was packed with every television playing the Red Sox versus Yankees game and young locals shouting to be heard over the bass of the music. A brash intensity filled the atmosphere and Sam was wholly unsurprised to find Dean cheering along with a small group at the pool tables in the far corner.

Dean grinned around his beer bottle as he met his brother’s gaze and gave him a playful wink. “Sammy! C’mon, play a round or two with us.” He turned toward a petite blonde woman and reached behind her to grab a cue, ensuring he was close enough that his chest brushed her arm as he did so. “Cindy, this is my baby brother, Sam, and my buddy, Cas. Boys, this lovely lady is Cindy. She’s celebrating her twenty-fifth birthday.”

Cindy giggled a little too loudly and linked her arm through Dean’s as she fumbled for her own beer.

Sam could see Cas’ hackles rise and the logical part of his brain yelled for damage control. He flashed a tight smile to Cindy, whose friends were looking over the newcomers with obvious interest.

“Dean, we really should get going, we’ve got an early day tomorrow.”

“Don’t be a bitch, Sammy, c’mon. One round for the birthday girl? I’ll even let you have the rest of my beer.”

Cas shouldered past Sam, grabbing a pool cue before rounding on Dean. Sam tensed, waiting for the inevitable first blow. Instead, Cas stepped up to Dean, close as dancers or lovers, breathing the same air as he plucked the beer bottle from Dean’s loose grasp. Cas’ eyes held Dean’s as he brought the glass to his lips.

Sam saw the flick of Dean’s tongue wetting his lips as he watched Cas’ throat work around the liquid. “One game,” Castiel said, rough with the hint of violence Sam had long associated with the angel. “Sam and I versus you and Sandy.”

“It’s Cindy, actually,” the birthday girl protested.

“Indeed,” Castiel said without looking away from Dean.

And really, Sam had never seen such an elegant ‘fuck you’ in his life.

Castiel raised an eyebrow at Dean and twirled the cue deftly. “One game and when Sam and I win, the three of us go back to the motel. Alone. Do you capiche?”

Somewhere a higher power had to be having a laugh at Sam’s plight. Was he really the only one incapable of causing a scene wherever he went? He coughed loudly, clearing his throat.

Stepping back from Cas, Dean snapped out of the glazed expression and the confident mask was once more firmly in place. “I capiche. Rack ‘em, Sam. We get stripes, you two nerds get solids.” He turned a cocky grin on Cindy and Sam could nearly see Cas’ blood boil at the dismissal. “Don’t worry; I taught these idiots how to play. We got this.”

Cindy thankfully proved to be a terrible shot, or at least too shitfaced to play properly. Cas’ analytical angel brain still contained the ability to make eerily quick geometric calculations that gave them a leg up, but Dean was still able to distract the angel without the least bit of shame.

Sam debated the pros and cons of breaking the pool cue over his brother’s head as Dean leaned unnecessarily far across the table to line up a shot and winked at Cas over his shoulder. If he hadn’t been standing right next to the angel, Sam would’ve missed the growl in his throat.  Not to be outdone, Cas moved in behind Dean, pressing close against him and whispering something in his ear as he reached for the chalk. Dean’s shot went wide and Cas stepped back with a satisfied smirk on his face.

_“This is like watching something on the Discovery Channel,"_ Sam griped via quick text message to Charlie. He caught the chalk cube Cas tossed to him and scanned the table for his next shot.

“I think your friend is into you,” Cindy said to Dean with a pout.

Sam tried to ignore her as he circled the table looking for his shot. Not that he didn’t like the girl, he was just tired of the uncomfortable sexual tension and being the third wheel… or fourth. Dean was so distracted Sam had to shove his older brother out of the way to take his turn.

“What can I say? I’m irresistible,” Dean returned, his voice a lazy drawl.

Rolling his eyes, Sam took his shot and sunk the three ball with practiced ease. He straightened and nodded at Cas. “All yours.”

“Eight ball, side pocket,” Cas called after a moment’s studying. Lining up his shot, he lifted his gaze to Dean’s, steady and challenging, before effortlessly sinking the eight ball. Cas set the cue down on the table and winked at Dean.

Sam’s life was turning into a goddamn sitcom.

~*~*~*~

In hindsight, Dean probably should have seen the warning signs. Of course, if he were in the business of being honest with himself, he probably would have realised that he was asking for it. He had no intentions toward Cindy, not really, though he did enjoy the flirting. Really, he had wanted to get Cas riled.

That being said, he was a little surprised to find himself bent over the sink in the men’s bathroom with his pants round his ankles and his ass bare. Surprised, but not unhappy.

“Someone could walk in!” Dean yelped as a large hand pressed firmly down on the back of his neck, pinning him in place.

“I locked the door,” Cas growled out behind him, the fallen angel’s free hand squeezing his left ass cheek almost painfully.

“Someone could still hear!” Dean hissed before his voice broke and turned into a moan.

“I doubt it. The music is loud and if it concerns you, then you should be quiet.”

“You’ve been watching too many fucking pornos.”

The hand that had been squeezing Dean’s ass suddenly cracked down with vicious force, eliciting a startled yelp. Three more swats in rapid succession followed, varying in placement but no less intense than the first. Cas draped his body over Dean’s, grinding his jean-clad hips into bare, stinging skin.

“Are you complaining?” he asked, voice low and deceptively calm.

Dean gasped as Cas’ fingers dug tiny crescents into his ass. “No, you’re – _fuck_ \- amazing for a billion year old virgin. You could be nicer to people on their birthday though.”

Cas bit him through his shirts, unerringly finding one of the bruises he had left that morning. “I’m fairly certain I no longer qualify as a virgin. As for your new friend,” Cas paused and rained a flurry of blows onto Dean’s ass and upper thighs before continuing, “that was quite rude of you to lead her on when you had no intentions toward her. You didn’t have intentions toward her, right, Dean?”

“No,” Dean panted, rocking into Cas’ touch.

“Then it was perhaps even more rude to use her as a pawn in your little game to antagonize me.”

Dean cried out as the angel’s palm slapped down one last time. He was embarrassingly hard, cock dripping onto the tile floor as he held onto the basin. As soon as they got back to the bunker, he was definitely changing his laptop password. Aside from tracking down his former lovers, there was no way Cas could have possibly known about this particular kink of Dean’s unless he had checked out his PornHub history.

Either that or the Pizza Man/Babysitter incident had made more of an impression on Cas than Dean had originally thought.

“Rather than apologise to Sandy-“

“Cindy.”

Cas swatted him again, open palm landing with bruising force as he punctuated his words. “I. Do. Not. Care,” he snarled, raising his voice to be heard over Dean’s punched out cries of pleasure and pain. “You will instead apologise to me, now, and perhaps I will forgive this transgression.”

Dean almost asked how it was a transgression if they weren’t in any kind of official relationship, but a particularly hard blow to his upper thigh halted that thought process.

“If I feel you’re sorry enough, I may even be inclined to give you some sort of relief for your efforts.”

Dean’s hips moved in abortive jerks, fighting Cas’ iron grip and desperately trying to get some sort of friction. His breath came in ragged whines and his arms shook with the effort of holding himself upright.

Cas’ fingers trailed lightly along his hip and down one aching cheek, the softness of the touch a maddening contrast to the controlled violence he’d previously displayed. Two more smacks came out of nowhere, both to the centre of his ass, leaving him sobbing for breath and closer to the edge than he ever thought he could get without touching his cock.

“I’m waiting.”

“Cas, please,” Dean gasped out, pushing back against him. He was going crazy with need, dangling over the precipice of his orgasm.

Cas shifted his body out of the way and lightly trailed his nails across the red, smarting skin, ignoring Dean’s squirming. “Begging will get you nowhere, Dean. You have tried my patience since we left Kansas. Your constant flirtations, your disrespect. And this,” he squeezed Dean’s ass, “implying this does not belong to me? That is unwise, Dean Winchester. Now, apologise.”

A keening noise escaped Dean’s throat as Cas’ fingers hit a particularly sensitive bruise. “I’m sorry,” he panted. “Cas, I’m sorry.”

“What for? Do it properly.”

“Castiel, I’m sorry,” Dean bit out. “I’m sorry I flirted, that I didn’t behave myself. Please, forgive me?”

The chuckle behind Dean sounded too close to Cas’ Leviathan-possessed laugh for his comfort, but he knew better than to turn around.

“Good boy,” Cas purred, nuzzling the back of Dean’s neck and up to his jawline.

The praise sent a shiver down Dean’s spine, better than any other kind of affection. This was what he craved.

“Such a good boy when you decide to behave, Dean. You look so good like this.”

Spinning Dean around and catching his whimper as his ass hit the porcelain edge of the sink, Cas kissed him deeply, tongue sweeping across Dean’s before pulling back with a quiet whisper of praise. Fumbling with his own belt, Cas pressed one hand against Dean’s chest, wordlessly instructing him to stay before sinking to his knees.

“Fuck, Cas, _fuck_ ,” Dean swore at the sudden wet heat on his cock. _This_ was not something he had expected; thus far it had only been Cas on the receiving end with Dean being adamant that he learn a bit of technique before attempting to return the favour.

Thankfully, enthusiasm was never a problem when it came to sex with Cas. He had a knack for finding and exploiting every advantage on Dean’s body. Clearly, there was a notebook in Enochian somewhere full of notes about all the things Dean liked in the sack because… God. Damn.

One hand left the edge of the sink to tangle into Cas’ hair as Dean fought the urge to thrust his hips forward, his thighs straining with effort and stomach muscles twitching. His eyes met Cas’ as Cas drew back, flicking his tongue around the head of Dean’s cock and sucking lightly before swallowing him back down. Maybe it was a species trait and not a Grace thing that angels didn’t need to breathe because Dean was fairly sure even his gag reflex would have kicked in by now, and he was pretty damn proud of being able to control it.

He groaned and threw his head back as Cas’ tongue pressed against the vein on the underside of his erection. His orgasm was close, heat pooling low in his groin. Scratching lightly at Cas’ scalp, Dean panted out encouragement, eyes flicking occasionally down to meet Cas’ intense stare. The angel hadn’t broken eye contact and was jerking himself with his free hand, the other drifting between the base of Dean’s cock and down to his perineum. That image, coupled with the suction on his cock and the stinging of his ass, sent Dean over the edge.

Gasping out Cas’ name, Dean’s breath was dragged out of him in quick, staccato notes as Cas swallowed around his twitching cock. His chest heaved as he managed to open his eyes once again, shivering with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Cas’ gaze was still on him; it wasn’t really fair how smug he managed to look while being on his knees with another dude’s cock in his mouth. Cas let him go, his blue eyes flickering closed as he grunted through his own release, his free hand reaching down to ensure nothing spilled across the tiled floor.

“C’mere,” Dean mumbled, tugging Cas’ sleeve upward. He pulled him into a kiss, groaning quietly as he tasted himself on the angel’s tongue. His fingers cupped Cas’ face, rubbing against the perpetual five o’clock shadow that never seemed to go away.

“Not bad for a million year old virgin,” he admitted, breath huffing out with a light chuckle. “Least you remembered no teeth.”

_Careful, Winchester,_ came the scornful thought at the back of his mind. _Getting too close._

Cas snorted and rolled his eyes, shouldering Dean out of the way of the sink to wash his hands. “You like to forget I’ve been watching humanity since you were nothing more than single-celled organisms. The mechanics of sexual activity are quite well known to me,” he replied dryly.

Tearing off a sheet of paper towel, he glanced pointedly at Dean’s ass. “Let those bruises be a reminder tomorrow when you decide to try my patience further.”

Dean shifted, feeling the sharp ache in his ass even as his cock gave a half-hearted twitch. He was reaching the age where three times in one day was out of the question, but while his body was unable, his mind was so, so willing. The burn was definitely starting to set in. He craned his neck to peer at himself in the mirror, a low thrum of pleasure shooting through him when he spotted the reddened marks. It had been _way_ too long since he had indulged in that particular kink. Before the first ‘end of the world’ maybe? He couldn’t remember. It was, however, absolutely worth exploring more though.

“There’s aloe in my duffel back at the motel,” Cas commented, “and you should probably pull up your pants before Sam figures out the girl I sent to distract him was a ploy to get you alone.”

Shit. Dean hastily stuffed himself back into his underwear and jeans, cursing as he fumbled with his belt. The fabric rubbed uncomfortably against his ass, a steady reminder of Cas’ claim. Oh well. There were worse things to have to deal with. He shot a smirk at Cas. “I’ll be sure to tell the bartender we got the sink fixed. Turns out you’re great at cleaning the pipes.”

The look Dean received in response was unquestionably worth any angelic wrath – formerly or otherwise - in the future.


	4. Something Just Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean meet up with their dog show contact and gather more information about their target.

Part Four

Dean woke to four unread texts from Charlie and a brother who was way too fucking cheerful for quarter to six in the morning. The scent of coffee and fast food grease reached his nose and he groaned quietly. He had at least gotten more than his usual four hours of sleep and even the lumpy motel bed was like heaven compared to the previous day’s car naps. A twinge of pain shot through his spine as he sat up. It was unfair: thirty-five was not old.

A tray of coffee and two McDonald’s bags had been set on the nightstand. Sam, soaked in sweat and still in his running shorts, sat at the table as he inhaled a McGriddle and made notes in the show catalogue.

Over on the cot, Cas had kicked off all the covers and was face down on the flimsy mattress with one leg hanging off the side. At least they had finally broken him of his hatred of pants and beaten it into his head that “boxers are mandatory unless you’re in your own fucking room.” Dean let his gaze linger on the curve of Cas’ ass, covered as it was by the obnoxiously orange boxer shorts, before moving up the bare torso to glare at the back of his head.

“Hey, Sunshine.”

No response.

Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring Sam’s exasperated expression. He reached out and snagged Cas’ wallet from the bedside table and chucked it at the quietly snoring angel’s ass.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty! C’mon, man, get up.”

The wallet bounced off Cas’ left butt cheek and he surged upright. An angel blade appeared in his hand from where he had stashed it under the pillow and his eyes were wide with alarm. Dean howled with laughter and fell back on the bed, clutching his stomach as tears formed in his eyes. Yeah, Sam was an easier target to annoy, but there was something so satisfying about catching Mr. Comatose off guard, regardless of later consequences.

“You’re lucky he doesn’t sleep with a gun under his pillow, Dean, or you’d have a bullet in your skull right about now.”

Dean didn’t even have to open his eyes to identify Bitchface #6.

Sitting up slowly, Dean wiped at his eyes as his laughter trailed off to what he adamantly refused to acknowledge as giggles. His glee was short-lived as a pillow was swung at his head with inhuman speed and force, sending him careening backwards.

“What the everloving fuck, Cas?!”

“Testing your battle reflexes, since you so kindly decided to test mine. I do believe I win,” Cas replied, setting the pillow down and picking up his coffee.

Sam unsuccessfully tried to hide his snort of laughter behind his hand. Traitor.

“Don’t start a prank war you can’t finish, ain’t that right, Sam?” Dean absently retorted as he fiddled with his phone. Charlie’s texts were all in the same vein of _"_ _don’t make me come up there and put the smack down on you two!”_ Sam had most likely told her about the bar incident. Great. Now he’d have someone else up his ass about it for the rest of the week.

“Our last one ended in a tie, if I remember right,” Sam protested.

Dean snorted and snagged one of the McDonald’s bags before Cas could eat the remaining four breakfast sandwiches. “Hey, whatever lets you sleep at night.”

He moved around the table and peered over Sam’s shoulder at the laptop and catalogue. “So, showers – cause, dude, you smell like a locker room – then head out? Cas and I are looking out for what again at the show?”

“German Shepherds by the leather merchant,” Cas said through a mouthful of sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit. “Woman named Kim.”

Dean whirled on his brother, eyes hardening as he glared accusingly at the younger man. “German Shepherds? Didn’t I specifically say I don’t do attack dogs? Why can’t you talk to her? Or give me some little fluffy anklebiters instead and have Cas just deal with her? What about the Belgian Manilow or whatever?”

“Malinois,” Cas corrected as he pulled a pair of clean boxers and a blue t-shirt out of his duffel. “The handler we’re speaking to used to be involved with that breed and has one for sale. She thinks my partner and I are interested in looking at the female she has available.”

“Woah, woah, woah; back up. _Partner?!_ Why the hell do we have to pose as partners?!”

Cas’ brow furrowed as he tilted his head in confusion like a great predatory bird. “What do you mean? We’ve posed as partners before during hunts. Why is it a problem now?”

Dean groaned. “Cas, that’s when we’re pretending to be FBI, man. FBI, private investigators, reporters – those all have partners, as in _work_ partners. You go around as yourself telling people you have a partner and they’re gonna think we’re together.”

More head tilting. Yep, there went the squint. Cas was in full blown confused bird mode. “But we are together.”

Sam grinned as Dean sputtered and choked on his coffee. “He means together romantically, Cas. People are going to think you’re in a romantic relationship. Though I’m sure after spending more than five minutes in the same room as you two, they’ll probably think you need marriage counseling.”

“Sam!”

“I see.” Cas clearly didn’t see, but at least the confused bird look had dialed back to a pensive frown. “It shouldn’t matter one way or another, since we’re not really looking to purchase a dog anyway.”

He balanced his razor on top of the pile of clean clothes and padded over to the shower, clearly done with the conversation. The door banged shut behind him, muffled Enochian grumbling drifting out before the fan kicked on.

Dean ran his hands over his face and squeezed his eyes shut, counting slowly to ten. He got to seven before opening his eyes and glaring at his smirking brother. “I don’t suppose you bothered to say anything otherwise? Or correct him?”

“Not a chance,” Sam laughed. “I’m hoping to get enough blackmail to last at least for the next year.” He shut his laptop and tossed Dean the catalogue. “By the way, Malinois are being used primarily as police and military K9s. I can’t talk to Kim because I have an in with a couple of women who are showing and Riot gives me an excuse to talk to the Aussie people. Cas will be with you; you’ll be fine.”

“Son of a bitch.”

~*~*~*~

“This town is a shit hole,” Dean griped as he swerved around another pothole and pulled onto Memorial Avenue. “My Baby better not get her rims all dinged to hell because fucking Massachusetts can’t fix their goddamn roads.”

“Dad never did like coming up to New England very often,” Sam commented. He dug the parking pass out of the glove compartment and set it on the dash. “If it wasn’t the drivers, it was the roads, remember?”

“Yeah, well, Garth’s gotta get more people up this way so we don’t have to hike all the way up here.”

An attendant in a fluorescent green vest waved them down to the right towards three buildings situated close together. The massive Better Living Centre was in the back and to the right. The parking attendants dashed about, directing RVs and trailers to the back of the building and cars to the middle lot.

Dean pulled into a space as close to the far edge of the lot as he could get and doubled checked his weapons: M1911 Colt .45 in his waistband loaded with witch-killing bullets, silver knife in his boot, and a small bottle of salted holy water in his shirt’s inner pocket.

Next to him, Sam loaded the last bullet into his Beretta and tucked it into the back of his waistband and fixed his plaid shirt and t-shirt over it. His little brother stepped out of the car and swung his satchel over his shoulder and tucked the dog-eared catalogue into the pocket of his jeans.

“Alright, EMF readings and hex bag check until ring time. You two know where you’re supposed to be?” Sam asked.

Cas’ messy head appeared as he climbed out of the back seat. Dean hoped he was armed; an angel blade wasn’t the easiest to hide with short sleeves.

“Yes, we won’t ‘fuck it up,’ as you say,” Cas sighed. He hesitantly offered his hand to Dean. “Truce?”

Dean had to grin at Cas’ awkward swearing. “Yeah, man, truce.” He gripped Cas’ hand, fingers lingering a little too long as they held the other man’s. “For now, anyway. This is still gonna be a bitch to pull off.”

“I don’t know, Dean. Just be yourselves and they should buy it,” Sam chimed in with a laugh.

“Hey… go fuck yourself, Sasquatch.”

They walked around a large silver van, dodging handlers in suits or formal dresses and skirts. Exhibitors and assistants bustled around the building, most walking dogs or carrying equipment. Dean turned around to waggle his eyebrows at his brother as they passed a woman in a highlighter-yellow dress with a low-cut neckline when the sound hit him.

He would know that sound anywhere: the deep, snarling bark of a hellhound.

Fear paralyzed him, the icy fingers of sheer terror grabbing him and rooting him in place. Dean tried to call out, to warn Sam and Cas of the danger but he couldn’t find his voice. A strangled noise escaped from his throat as the hellhound lunged toward him, teeth flashing stark white against the black of its fur. The creature’s brown eyes were fixated on him as heavy front paws hit him squarely in the chest. Instinctively, he reached for his gun.

“Storm, no! _Sitz!_ _Platz!_ ”

“Dean!”

Strong arms wrapped around Dean’s chest and spun him around, preventing him from drawing his weapon. A flash of blue eyes and permanent bed head filled his vision before he sagged, trembling, against Cas.

The angel stroked his back and murmured soothing sounding things in Enochian. " _En hoath,_ Dean, you’re safe. There is no hellhound, it’s just a dog,” Cas rumbled in his ear. “Look, Dean, it’s okay. You can see that creature. The child has it under control now.”

Dean _could_ see the beast, Cas was right. The animal’s eyes were brown, not red, with no scent of sulfur anywhere in the air. He leaned on Cas for another moment, murmuring, “Just give me a minute.”

He tried to pull the shreds of his control together even though he felt like a wounded animal inside. Sam, thank God or whatever for Sam, was standing between him and the dog. His bulk made an imposing barrier between his brother and the rowdy animal.

Sam spoke quietly to the kid holding the dog’s leash, making up some shit about a dog bite. Dean didn’t give a fuck; Cas’ hands were firm on his shoulders. He could stand like this all goddamn day. Too soon, Cas gave Dean’s shoulder a firm squeeze and stepped back.

“I’m really sorry, I have no idea why she did that! Storm loves everyone, but she’s a bit excitable sometimes,” the teenager apologized. “I swear she’s nice; you can pet her if you want. I think she has her brain back together.”

The dog in question was a German Shepherd, solid black, her face a happy grin as she wagged her tail at Sam and obediently laid down on the pavement.

Sam squatted to pet the dog, turning around to smile reassuringly at Dean and Cas. Storm flopped over onto her side, licking Sam’s hand and wriggling onto her back for belly rubs.

“I think she’s fine, Dean. Do you want to say hi?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Dean’s voice was more strained than he had hoped for, but at least he had overcome the terror. “Nice doggy.”

Cas remained beside him, Dean’s muscles relaxing when the angel pressed a warm hand into his back. With gentle pressure, Cas guided him forward. “We’ll meet you inside, Sam.”

Inside didn’t sound much better, with hundreds of the damned dogs waiting for him in the building. Cas pressed again, his thumb moving reassuringly against Dean’s spine.

If it weren’t for the actual fucking witches, he’d have dragged Cas back to the motel in an instant. It was rare Cas gave him any sort of comfort and his touch-starved body was greedy for it.

Drawing a shaky breath, he opened the door.

‘Chaos’ was the first word that came to Dean’s mind as he took in his first view of the dog show. Crates and grooming tables were clustered in tight groups around the perimeter of the building. Loud dryers and the occasional barking muffled the exhibitors’ good natured banter as dogs of all shapes and sizes were brought in and out of the building on leashes that looked far too thin, especially for the bigger dogs.

Dean slowed as he looked around, too overwhelmed by all the activity to focus on his tumult of emotions. It wasn’t complete chaos, he realised as he watched the exhibitors and assistants move around each other smoothly; it was a controlled pandemonium. No dogs lunged or snarled at each other and most appeared under the handlers’ control. This was clearly a small community, close knit and comfortable with each other despite the clear signs of competition.

“Hogan Leather is near the concession area,” Cas said as he pointed to Dean’s right. His other hand hadn’t left its spot at Dean’s back, something Dean was pathetically relieved about.

“EMF check first, then we go see the hellhounds,” Dean replied, forcing his scowl into something that resembled a smile. Cas clearly wasn’t fooled, but he felt better with the mask in place anyway. “That lady’s been eyeing your ass for the entire time we’ve been standing here, so we should uh, probably play up the couple thing. Unless you’re interested in a hookup?”

“The only ‘hookup’ I am interested in,” Cas said, his voice dropping into a low growl, “I already have.”

“Fuck,” Dean hissed against the wildly inappropriate twist of desire. “Cas…”

Cas quirked an eyebrow and slid the hand that had been poised at Dean’s back over to clutch at his hand and laced their fingers together. “Is this normative behaviour?”

“Yeah, uh…” Dean stuttered, trying not to show just how fucking nice that felt, “kinda lame, but it’ll work.”

The air conditioning in the building was awful, even Dean’s face was feeling flushed. He resolutely looked away from Cas and pulled the EMF detector out of his pocket. Fiddling awkwardly with one hand – _Jesus, Winchester, just drop the man’s hand so you can get the freakin’ thing working_ – Dean managed to turn the small machine on and held it close to his chest.

“Let’s do a sweep around the perimeter and then ringside. We’ll snag the men’s room when we walk by.”

Cas nodded in agreement, content to let Dean take the lead for the case which was… yeah. It was nice Cas still trusted him and that fucking hadn’t screwed up their field work. Cas seemed different today; less on edge, less possessive. Gone was the rampant moodiness of the day before. Sure, he was still a lazy bastard who ate them out of bunker and Impala, but Dean could handle that.

Even the sexual tension had faded a bit from the previous night, though that was more likely due to Cas following Dean into the men’s restroom at the bar and swatting his ass red.

The EMF detector remained quiet as the pair worked their way around the building and wove in and out of setups and vendors. Cas’ hand was warm and comfortable in Dean’s as the angel occasionally tugged him over to peer at some weird looking dog breed. Few exhibitors paid them any mind, most focused on grooming or moving dogs around. No obvious hex bags were found, though looking too closely for them would likely draw unwanted attention; Sam had stressed this was strictly a recon day with so many civilians around and Dean wasn’t too keen on arguing over it.

Their initial sweep finished, Dean and Cas worked their way back toward the leather gear vendor in search of their Malinois contact. Sam’s shaggy head was visible in a setup by Ring 3 as he fussed over a reddish-tan fluffy dog with darker spots and large white patches. Dean’s hand tightened in Cas’ and he pointed at his brother. “Sam’s working the crowd at least. Y’think he’ll get lucky?”

“It’s possible. There are a lot of Australian Shepherds here today.”

“I meant lucky as in ‘laid,’ but yeah, that too,” Dean snorted. He pointed to a handler barking out orders to a pair of assistants in the next section over. “There. See the two shepherds on the tables? Bet that’s our lady.” One of the two dogs in question was the black shepherd from earlier; Winchester luck at its finest.

“Dana, go ex Ryder and Lana; do _not_ let Ryder be a dick with other dogs. Abbie, get Storm back in her crate and help me finish up with Squall. Move your asses, ladies!”

The handler in charge was a heavier-set woman with bright red hair and an air of smooth confidence about her. Several years older than Dean, she moved around the setup with practiced ease as she brushed the flanks of a lanky brown coloured male.

She spotted Dean and Cas as they approached and she eyed both men unashamedly. “Questions, gentlemen? You’ve got that deer in the headlights look. Who are you looking for?”

“I’m Cas, this is my partner, Dean.” Cas tugged at Dean’s hand and stepped forward. “We were told yesterday to ask for a Kim Dunn? We’re interested in Belgian Malinois.”

Dean twitched slightly at the word partner, but followed Cas into the setup.

The black shepherd caught sight of him and immediately began shrieking on the grooming table, her front end bouncing with every bark.

The woman swore and turned away from the male to face the female. “Storm! Shut your trap or I’m going to turn you into a throw pillow!”

The shepherd whinged and snapped the air with her jaws as she continued to stare at Dean. An assistant hurried forward and unhooked the dog’s collar from the grooming table and hauled the protesting animal into her crate.

Rolling her eyes as she turned back to Dean and Cas, the handler offered her hand. “Sorry about Storm. All bark, only bites if you’ve got a bite sleeve. She’s a few fries short of a Happy Meal, if you get me. I’m Kim; you two must be the guys Tracie told me about.”

Prepared for the fear this time, Dean was able to control himself and tamp it down quickly, the brush of Cas’ fingertips against his a relief.

The angel frowned, brow furrowing as he looked at Dean and asked, “Why would the dog have fast food?”

Dean’s cheeks reddened at Kim’s amused smile. “English ain’t his first language,” he explained quickly. Dude was getting better but his social skills still left a bit to be desired. “Cas was here yesterday with my brother talking to people. We wanted to get to know the dogs a bit better, y’know, before we make a decision.”

Kim studied them for a moment, her sharp brown eyes raking over Dean. “Pass me that spray bottle with the blue top, would you?”

Cas handed over the bottle and moved into Dean’s space, his hip lightly bumping him.

“What makes you want a Mal? I’ve got a young bitch here you’re welcome to meet, but I’ve gotta tell you, they’re not the right breed for everyone. And no offense, pretty boy, but you’re not looking so comfortable with these guys and they’re easy compared to a Malinois.”

“Dean was attacked by a black German Shepherd a few years ago,” Cas explained smoothly. “He’s still a bit wary of the breed but has been making great strides overcoming his fear.”

Dean scowled. “Way to make me sound like a giant baby,” he hissed.

Cas jabbed him sharply in the ribs.

“Gotcha, sorry about Storm then. I’m sure she probably doesn’t make being here any easier. I swear she’s harmless though; she’s my niece’s juniors dog and they’ve been together since Storm was six months.” Kim sprayed the brown dog’s body with a sweet-smelling liquid and picked up the brush again. “I’ll be happy to chat with you two about Mals though. I miss the breed but wanted to stick with German Shepherds; Faith is from my last breeding. She’s mentally stable, has an off switch, and is a great worker and show dog. Too bad her last owners decided they wanted a poodle instead,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“That’d be appreciated, Kim,” Cas said with a small smile. “I’ve recently… changed careers. I’m finding myself needing new hobbies to stay active and keep from missing my old line of work. My research said Malinois were versatile and active. Dean and I travel a bit and were looking for a dog that could keep up with our lifestyle, as well as allow me to branch out into things on my own.”

Well damn. If Dean hadn’t known better, he’d have bought Cas’ speech. It was close enough to the truth that they wouldn’t have trouble keeping up the appearance and the angel sounded sincere. Maybe he was finally picking up on the finer nuances of the con the brothers had been trying to pound into his skull for years.

He tried to ignore the drop in the pit of his stomach at Cas’ mention of going out on his own. Was that as much of a lie as the rest his speech or was he planning on leaving again?

Kim gave the brown shepherd one last look before unclipping him and putting him back in his crate. Opening the crate on the end, she gestured to the grooming table as the big black and tan male padded out. “Table, Squall. If you guys want to stick around after breed, we’ll grab lunch and chat. You can meet Faith and see if the Mal temperament fits you.”

“We can help out, if you need it. I mean, I wouldn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground with this stuff, but me an’ Cas can lift stuff and be errand boys,” Dean offered, winking at Kim and regaining a bit of the Winchester charm.

“Newbies that want to work? Must be my lucky day,” Kim laughed, spritzing Squall from head to toe. “When Dana comes back in, she’ll show you to the van and you can help her bring in the water jugs and coolers. Can’t be a dog show without whiskey and Baystaters.”

~*~*~*~

It was nearly ten-thirty and Dean still had no idea what the hell was going on. He and Cas had watched Kim and her assistants wrangle all seven German Shepherds to the show ring, the handler barking orders and sending the girls racing back and forth from ringside to the setup with dogs.

A very confused Cas had a thin leather leash shoved in his hand with the lanky brown male attached to the end and was told, “Hold him until Best of Breed!”

Kim’s dogs seemed to do well against their competitors, with only Storm coming in last in her class after spotting Dean standing ringside and carrying on shrieking at him.

A set of keys was dropped into Dean’s hand, bringing him back to the present.

“When you see Squall rounding that corner, toss the keys,” Abbie said hurriedly. “Just be discreet about it.”

“Uh, sure, I think.” Dean wasn’t at all sure, but he didn’t want to piss the kid off. After all, she was a source of information; maybe he and Cas could even poke around more for hex bags if they looked more official.

He watched Kim place Squall how she wanted him to stand, give him a stay command, and went out to the end of the leash as the judge felt down the dog’s body and nodded to her. Squall trotted on a diagonal this time before stopping and standing in front of the judge, looking as if he was daring the judge to dismiss him. Kim popped his collar lightly before allowing Squall to move out easily in front of her. Dean flipped the keys as the dog rounded to them, and the effect was instant: Squall’s ears went forward and he extended his stride. The judge sent the group around once more before selecting Squall as his Best of Breed.

Dean found Cas making notes in his catalogue, one name scratched through.

“We’re staying for herding group. Mals are coming up after this next breed but Kim promises it won’t be as nuts,” Dean groaned. “She was short staffed today and got lucky Storm didn’t win.”

“Storm was excused,” Cas corrected, pointing to the name in the catalogue. “Dismissed for temperament.”

“Yeah, well, she’s got some sort of hate boner for me and I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

“Do we think she may be a familiar?”

Dean sat on the bench beside Cas and draped an arm around his shoulder after a moment’s hesitation; for ‘appearances.’ Except these appearances felt pretty fucking awesome, even if they weren’t real. Being able to touch Cas just because… it was nice.

“I don’t know, man. I’d think a familiar would be able to pick up that you’re not exactly human, even without the Grace. That’d put Kim as our likely witch, and I’m just not seeing it. She’s not struggling with her clients, seems to get along with everyone, and works with a bunch of kids. It’s possible, but I doubt it. There’s just no motive.”

“She doesn’t seem to be getting along with that woman,” Cas pointed out, jerking his chin in Kim’s direction.

She was in a heated argument with a younger woman wearing a hot pink short dress that left little to the imagination. Pink Dress threw up her hands at something Kim said and turned on her heel, heading toward the long table with the American Kennel Club banner.

“Probably nothing, but yeah; let’s check it out,” Dean agreed, grunting as his back protested standing, still sore from hours behind the wheel.

Cas ducked away from the shelter of Dean’s arm, away from the comfort. A pang of guilt twisted in Dean’s stomach; he shouldn’t take advantage. Cas didn’t want him… not like that. What they had… it was a sex thing. Nothing more. Dean should remember to keep his goddamn hands to himself.

The dog Kim held watched them curiously as they approached, not overly friendly but not showing any signs of aggression either, Dean noted with relief. She tilted her head at Kim in an eerie mirror of Cas’ familiar gesture, relaxing when her breeder smiled down at her and stroked her head.

“Not our lucky day today,” Kim sighed.

Cas knelt and offered his hand to the dog, an athletic mahogany-coloured animal with a black mask. She looked reminiscent of a German Shepherd, with her pricked ears and focused stare, but she was much smaller overall.

“This is the one you were telling us about? Faith?”

The Malinois studied the angel, her eyes never leaving Cas’ as she sniffed.

“Yep, she’s two years old, needs a major to finish her championship and was started in bite sports. Rock solid, not like the crazy imports we’ve had coming in recently.” Kim scratched behind Faith’s ears affectionately. “I wouldn’t have sold her if I was staying in the breed, so I’m not in any rush to place her just yet.”

Dean hesitantly pet Faith’s side, earning a little tail wag in response. At least this one didn’t want him dead. “Everything alright with that other chick? She didn’t seem too happy.”

Kim snorted and gestured for them to follow her back to the setup. “Dog show drama. There was an incident a couple weeks ago with a well-to-do Malinois breeder – poor bastard was found in pieces, literally, in his hotel room – and his clients have been dispersing themselves among other professionals. Linda was pissy that I sent them over to a different handler instead of to her.” She handed Faith’s leash to Cas and flopped down into a camp chair. “She doesn’t understand that she has to earn respect and clients. Linda’s got some decent dogs, but she plays politics and feeds into drama. She bred Aussies for a few years, had some nice wins, but got too kennel blind. Couldn’t see her own dogs’ faults.”

Dean glanced sharply at Cas. Australian Shepherds were the first breed involved in the string of murders. Cas inclined his head subtly.

“Sounds like a lot of drama for running a bunch of dogs around in circles,” Dean joked. “Are you going to be around after lunch? If I can get Cas to give you back your dog, we want to pick your brain a bit.”

“Yes, we need to meet up with Dean’s brother, but I do want to talk to you about Malinois,” Cas agreed, rubbing Faith’s dark ears as the dog pressed her head into his chest. “And Faith too, if I may.”

Waving a hand, Kim nodded and took Faith’s lead back from Cas. “No problem. Groups start at two and I’ll have to have Squall ready for herding group at probably around three-thirty. Perks to being second to last group! Enjoy your lunch, gentlemen, and bring your brother over if he’s cute and single,” she said with a wink.

Dean knew he liked her for a reason.

Waving goodbye, and Cas reluctantly giving one last pat to Faith, they split up with Cas heading off to the concession stand to get lunches and Dean finding his brother seated on a bench by Ring 6. Massive hairy dogs, mostly solid black or brown or with white patches, were in the ring and Sam clapped enthusiastically as one black and white one made its lumbering way around.

“You finally found your people, Sammy. Freakishly big and too much hair,” Dean commented as he slumped down next to his brother.

Sam punched Dean’s shoulder lightly. “Jerk.”

“Bitch. What’d you find out? Me an’ Cas have got a few things that are worth checking into,” Dean returned, peering at Sam’s phone as the younger man attempted to text and blocked his view. “Charlie? She have anything for us?”

Hesitating a moment before hitting send, Sam looked away guiltily. “No, not Charlie. I, uh, texted Amelia to get some advice on how to not sound like a complete newbie.”

“Amelia? Like Texas Amelia?” At Sam’s nod, Dean sighed like he’d been punched. “Jesus Christ, Sammy, it’s not fucking safe! I know this isn’t angels and demons and shit but fuck. You don’t wanna put her in the ground and I don’t wanna be responsible for her ending up there.”

Sam held up his hands. “I didn’t give her details. Just mentioned I was at a dog show and was thinking of her and Riot, which was true. I asked her a few questions about the breed that I thought I should know the answers to. Nothing hunting related.”

“I thought you two had called it quits.”

“We’ve been chatting recently. She and Don broke up _._ ” Sam abandoned his guilty puppy look and frowned at Dean. “Look, I know you don’t approve, but I really, really like her, okay? I just can’t keep my mind off her. Not talking to her is like you never talking to Cas again – and don’t feed me that bullshit about how you guys are just friends so it’s different. I’m not blind, Dean, even though you two apparently are.” His voice softened. “Trust me, I know it’s dangerous, but it hurts too much to stay away.”

Dean’s mouth snapped shut, cutting off his protest. He matched Sam’s glare before turning back to the ring. “Jesus, man. Fine. I won’t say anything unless it becomes a problem,” he relented, kicking Sam’s boot in annoyance. “Cas and I might have a suspect, and she’s in your goddamn breed.”

“Linda Bynes?” Sam ventured, digging his catalogue out of his back pocket. “Yeah, she doesn’t seem to have a great reputation with some of the folks I talked to. Confrontational, over-dramatic, likes to have others take the blame for her mistakes. She apparently has a revolving door of assistants because no one wants to work for her for more than a month.” He opened the pictures app on his phone and flipped through a few before zooming in on one. “See the necklace she’s wearing? Pentacle. She also has a few crystals and gems around her setup that everyone’s noticed. Sounds like amateur witchcraft to me, and fits the profile.”

Dean peered at the photo and nodded. “Our contact, Kim, said she was picking an argument over the clients of the last victims being sent to handlers other than her. Seemed real pissed off about it and stormed off. Think she’s the one?”

“Best lead so far,” Sam nodded. “Let’s hash out a game plan while Juniors go; I promised I’d clap for Melanie. You and Cas can watch or just feed the tapeworms you guys apparently have.”

“Remind me why I didn’t just smother you in your sleep when you were a baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: "Something Just Like This" by Coldplay & The Chainsmokers
> 
> Little note about the canine star of the show, Faith. She is a Belgian Malinois, a breed not for the faint of heart. They are a working breed, primarily used in police and military units because of their handler sensitivity, high drives, athleticism, and protective nature. These dogs do not make good pets. Sadly, they're becoming a "fad" breed in the dog world and many become aggressive and uncontrollable if they do not have proper outlets for their energy, poor training, or weak genetics. For more on Malinois, my own is posted regularly on my tumblr @feathers-and-cigarettes or my old (no longer updated) dog blog: @crippledhockwalker.


	5. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Springfield, day 2. Castiel gets roped into handling Faith in the show ring while Dean and Sam learn some damning details about their target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: minor domestic violence, dubcon if you squint (very minor), almost smut, gore (unrelated to smut). 
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful @dragonpressgraphics (tumblr, pherryt here on AO3) for the beautiful art in the middle of this chapter. You really captured the scene beautifully, and Faith is perfect! I was very happy to get punched in the face by a Maligator for a reference - 100% worth it!

Part Five

Kim was as liberal with her show gossip as she was with her vodka shots and even Dean was hard-pressed to keep up with her.

“So I was trying to talk to a couple of Aussie people and met a few nice people,” Sam said between bites of his BLT wrap. “One woman wouldn’t give me the time of day; I think her name was Linda?”

Kim snorted. “Yeah, that’s definitely Linda Bynes all right. She’s too good for us little people: unless you’re kissing her ass or have a top show dog, you’re not worth her time. Had my own argument with her today, in fact.”

Dean licked barbeque sauce off his fingers and set his Cowboy burger down, pointedly ignoring Cas’ hungry stares from beside him. Not an easy task, but Cas’s previously placid mood had dissipated as soon as they had entered the tavern.

“Yeah, she seemed like she was a peach,” Dean commented, burping quietly into his fist.

“Sad as it is, I’ll have to have everyone keeping an eye out tomorrow,” Kim replied. “Linda’s not past unlatching crates or emptying grooming bottles. Her setup neighbour one year had nylon collars cut just enough so when their dog pulled, the collar would snap.”

“That’s horrible!” Sam exclaimed. “What if the dogs escaped or got hurt?”

Dean covered his smile with his last shot. Leave it to Sammy to focus on the dogs rather than the potential murder victims. If the worst that happened this week was a dog getting loose, Dean would take it.

“Yeah, well, safety has never been her priority. Or the dogs themselves. Winning is what she’s focused on,” Kim grumbled.

Sam’s face set into a deep frown and Dean was worried he was going to go into a full on “save the puppies” rant, but he remained quiet.

“On that fun note, I’m gonna get a round of beers,” Dean said, wiping his hands on a napkin and pushing back from the table. “No more vodka or Sammy’s gonna get maudlin.” Or Dean was going to end up agreeing to getting fucked in the bathroom again. Whichever.

He made his way up to the crowded bar and took a risk on two pitchers of the local IPA. Leaning against the edge of the bar, he watched the bartenders buzz around, catering expertly to the busy weekend crowd.

“Your friend from last night doesn’t appear to be back,” Cas’ voice purred in his ear.

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. He was making the damned angel wear a bell.

“Fuck you, I was being nice,” Dean hissed, shifting uncomfortably at the memory of the aftermath.

Cas’ arm slid around Dean’s waist, fingers tightening in warning on his hip. He glared venomously at the woman seated next to them, who had looked over with casual interest.

Not again. They were on business and couldn’t afford to get distracted a second night in a row. Dean twisted out of Cas’ grasp and took the two pitchers from the bartender.

“Cut the shit, Cas,” Dean snapped as he shouldered his way past. “Get a grip before you start drawing attention to us.”

Cas had spent the entire afternoon petting Faith while lounging in a camp chair. Petting dogs was supposed to be soothing; what the fuck was up with the moodiness? If he was still trying to keep their cover, he was certainly going about it in a shitty way.

Setting the pitchers down on the table and ignoring Sam’s curious look, Dean slumped back down into his seat and stuffed the last of his fries in his mouth.

To his credit, Cas seemed to have gotten enough of a grip to grab glasses from the bar. He set them down on the table and eyed the remains of Dean’s burger hopefully.

“Hey, you guys survived a show with Kim!”

A grinning blonde teenager appeared at Kim’s shoulder and waved at Sam. She gave the sputtering Kim a one-armed hug, setting her plate down and claiming one of the empty seats at the table.

“Your sister tells you horror stories, girl!” Kim huffed, reaching out to pick black dog hair out of the girl’s ponytail. “I went easy on Tracie in Juniors, no matter how much she says otherwise!”

Two more women arrived at the table, one an older version of the teenager and the other with a guarded expression on her face as she met Dean’s gaze.

Ever the gentleman, Sam stood and offered his chair to the older blonde, moving his plate beside Dean and waving at them to sit. “Tracie, Melanie, this is my brother, Dean. You remember Cas from yesterday,” he said. “You must be Beth? I’m Sam; I think we must’ve missed each other at the show today.”

Beth nodded and accepted Sam’s hand before sitting across from the younger sister, Melanie. “It was a busy day today, but thank you for your support. Always nice to having someone clapping for my dogs,” she replied coolly.

“You have the big hairy dogs, right?” Dean asked, giving up on his burger and shoving the plate over to Cas.

Melanie snickered, her eyes darting between Dean and Cas. “Newfoundlands, yeah. Whole lot more drool than what you’re looking for.”

“That’s because they have more sense than you,” Kim shot back, sipping the foam off the top of her beer glass. “By the way, Tracie, I have to thank you for sending me a couple of nice young men to put to work. Knew I raised you right.”

Dean grinned back at Kim and raised his glass at her.

“Sorry you had to lose to Linda today, Beth. I don’t have to tell you what a nice young dog she has, but it’s a damned shame she’s the one at the other end of the leash,” Kim commented.

Shrugging, Beth sipped her wine. Kim had clearly touched a nerve, judging by the way her jaw clenched and the set of her shoulders stiffened. “Carson was the best dog today,” she allowed. “Certainly can’t complain about the judging.”

Dean and Sam exchanged glances. Nodding slightly, Dean kicked Cas under the table, trying to get him to pay attention to the conversation.

Cas grunted and shot an affronted look at Dean. He wiped his fingers on a napkin and reached for the pitcher of beer.

“If this woman is so unpleasant, why does she keep winning?” he asked, pouring himself a thankfully small glass.

“She bred some nice Aussies once upon a time, had some nice wins including a couple Best In Shows. When she expanded out into all-breed handling, she had a lot of top clients. She’s a good handler, she’s just a terrible person,” Kim replied.

“You’re lucky she hasn’t had a German Shepherd client. You don’t show your male enough to hold onto his ranking for too long,” Beth said, eyes holding the slightest challenge as she watched Kim down the rest of her beer.

“And you’ve known me long enough to know I don’t give two shits about rankings, Bethany. Give me sound structure, temperaments, and working ability and I’ll be happy. We’ll show at the National Dog Show and maybe Westminster, but we could use a break.”

“You _do_ have a nice lineup of judges who are partial to shepherds for that show,” Beth said, her voice prickly.

Tracie shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her gaze darting back and forth between her employer and Kim. “It would be awesome for you guys to make it on tv though,” she said with a smile. “And hey, Beth, the working judge has put up Cruiser in the past.”

Dean watched the exchange curiously. Not that he had any idea what they were talking about, but he knew jealousy when he saw it. What past had occurred between Beth and Kim to cause the tension?

Melanie stole a fry off her sister’s plate and rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed with the entire situation.

Cas had shifted closer to Dean, one hand resting on his thigh. It would be nice – even soothing – if Cas would tone down his glaring at everyone who so much as glanced Dean’s way. At least he hadn’t had a second glass of beer on top of all the vodka shots he’d downed. Angel constitution was impressive, but Cas was definitely no longer immune to the effects of alcohol.

Nudging Sam with his elbow, Dean jerked his head toward the door and quickly polished off the last of his beer. Better to get back to the hotel and hash out a plan before Cas’ mood soured further.

“Been a fun night, ladies, but we better head back and hit the hay,” Dean said, tossing enough bills onto the table to cover Kim’s meal as well. “We’ll catch up with you in the morning, Kim.”

A chorus of goodbyes echoed behind them as Dean dug his keys out of his pocket and fell into step beside his brother.

“Definitely Linda, I’m thinking.”

Sam nodded. “Sure sounds like it. She’s set up close to where Beth is; I’ll keep an eye on her during the show and we check her out tomorrow night?”

“Yeah.” Dean held the door for Sam and Cas as they exited the bar. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and get to go home sooner than we thought.”

“Why can we not just kill her at the show?” Cas complained, a little _too_ loudly for the crowded parking lot.

Quickly glancing around to make sure no one overheard, Dean rounded on Cas. “Dude, we can’t just go around killing everyone,” he hissed quietly. “I know the God Squad likes to burn down the house for one cockroach, but we don’t do shit like that.”

“Your way takes too long,” Cas shot back, matching Dean’s glare, but at least lowering his voice to a displeased growl. “She’s a threat. She has to be eliminated or other innocents could die.”

Sam cleared his throat as they reached the Impala. “We have to be sure, Cas,” he said, opening the passenger side door. “Then we can draw her out and take her down quietly. We can’t afford to get police attention.”

Muttering darkly to himself in Enochian, Cas yanked open his door and slid into the back seat.

Dean shot his brother a grateful nod and unclenched his jaw as he turned the key into the ignition. If Cas wouldn’t listen to him, at least Sam was still able to appeal to the logical side of the angel’s brain.

~*~*~*~

By nine in the morning, the Better Living Centre was struggling with the air conditioning and tensions were running high.

Sam had quickly spotted Beth’s van in the parking lot and broke off to assist, mumbling excuses about protecting her and the sisters from Linda as he left Dean to deal with the crabby Cas.  

Kim, who seemed no worse for wear despite going shot for shot with Dean the night before, had no qualms about putting the pair to work again. While Dean helped her assistants haul in more water jugs and coolers, Cas studiously ignored him as he walked Faith to the open grooming table.

In her crate, Storm shrieked and howled, her tail wagging furiously against the wire bars as a young man with a cane appeared out of the crowd with an imposing-looking Doberman at his side. The youth cleared his throat awkwardly and waved to Kim.

“Sorry I’m a little late, Bravo took his time going to the bathroom because he thinks all the ladies are here for him,” he said, rubbing between the Doberman’s cropped ears affectionately.

“Hey, Jesse, no problem; we’re a little ragged here anyway,” Kim replied. “Cas, if you want to keep brushing her, take the dryer and fluff up, then back brush with the pin brush. Do everything except her tail, legs, and back.” She handed the dryer over to Cas and squeezed around the crates to fuss over Bravo.

Jesse thanked Dean as he offered a chair. “Still taking in strays and putting them to work, Kim?”

“Hey, they found me first. And you know I won’t say no to a pair of muscled men doing my heavy lifting for me,” Kim quipped, replacing the Doberman’s leather collar with a thin metal chain. “Dean, Cas, this is Jesse. I tortured him through Juniors until he aged out a few years ago. I still don’t know why he doesn’t think he can handle his own dogs, but I never say no to a paying client.”

Dean tried not to flinch as Bravo poked him in the ribs with his nose, the Doberman’s nubby tail wagging furiously. Casually shifting over to stand next to Cas, he raised his voice to be heard over the force dryer. “Need help?”

Cas shook his head, blue eyes meeting Dean’s briefly before focusing back on Faith and his grooming. He was looking good despite his pissy mood, with his hair more of a mess than usual and sweat dripping down the back of his neck into the collar of his (shamelessly stolen from Dean) burgundy button-down. Dean found himself swaying into Cas’ space unconsciously and it earned him a raised eyebrow before Abbie’s shouting interrupted the moment.

“Kim, Mals just got delayed! They think another fifteen minutes!”

“You’re shitting me.” Kim stood, tucking the chunk of beef liver Jesse held out for her into her arm band. “I have Dobes then. We’ve been waiting for months for this judge to come around. Will they conflict with Juniors?”

Abbie nodded. “Mal bitches will probably run into Open Juniors and I need to run Storm before we go in because she was crazy after breed today.”

“Shit.”

Cas shut the dryer off and let Faith hop off the table. The Malinois looked disdainfully at Bravo and headbutted Cas’ hand in silent demand for more petting. “Should I keep her out or put her in the crate?” Cas asked as he groped around behind Dean for his bottle of water.

At least Dean hoped it was water. Half of the coolers he had brought in from the van were filled with alcohol.

Kim ran a hand through her fiery red hair and sighed. “Take her out to go to the bathroom, would you, Cas? And would you play with her? There’s a jute tug there on the table.”

Cas nodded and, with a glance at Dean to confirm, took the tug and Faith out of the setup.

“Ask that guy to take her in,” Jesse suggested. “Faith seems to like him and she’s not usually thrilled with anyone new. He’s decently presentable for a stand-in, Judge Simms will excuse his jeans.”

“Woah, woah. This is Cas’ second day ever at a dog show. He doesn’t know the first thing about doing whatever it is you guys do,” Dean protested, looking to Kim for confirmation. “Plus he’s still pretty hungover from last night.”

Kim rested a hand on Dean’s bicep. “Will you ask him? Please? Jesse can go over ring procedure with him and show him how to stack Faith. He’ll be in the ring for five minutes, tops. I promise it’ll be as low stress as possible.”

“The past few months have just been a little trying,” Dean admitted. “Cas was a soldier and has had some trouble adapting to civilian life. I’m just worried about him.”

Patting his arm, Kim nodded. “I thought it might be something like that. You boys seemed military; my nephew just returned from Afghanistan and my late husband was a Navy SEAL. A distraction like this can be good for him, Dean.” She studied him for a moment longer, reminding Dean for a heart-wrenching second of Ellen Harvelle. “How long did you boys serve?”

“Seems like our whole lives: born and bred for it,” Dean laughed bitterly.

“Then you deserve a break. Both of you. Now, none of that,” she raised her voice over his protest. “I don’t know what they had you do when you were soldiers and frankly I don’t want to know. I deal with a lot of shitty people, Dean; been married to a couple of them. You and Cas are not, same goes for that brother of yours. I may be in dogs, but I didn’t get this far in my career without being able to see right through people.” She patted his face. “Now, go get your man and don’t be a twat about it.”

Dean gave her a lopsided grin. “You remind me of someone I knew once. She liked to kick my ass too.”

Kim threw her head back and laughed. “Good! Everyone needs someone like me in their lives; hell, I need one!” Swatting him on the ass good-naturedly, she moved back to take Bravo and speak to Jesse, leaving Dean to pick his way outside to find Cas.

The fallen angel was across the parking lot in a small grassy area. Faith had the tug toy in a deep grip in her teeth and her tail wagged furiously as she fought Cas for possession. Laughing quietly, Cas slapped the dog’s rib cage, causing her to growl ferociously and whip her head back and forth. Faith’s front paws braced against Cas’ thighs as she pulled back and finally won her prize. The tug firmly clenched in her jaws, she paraded around in a small circle with her tail wagging and head held high.

Dean leaned against the lamp post, content to watch for a moment. Cas had never been what Dean would call soft or sweet, but in this moment, he could see the curious, quirky creature who had held a reverence for his Father’s creations. He cracked a smile as Faith, who couldn’t have been more than fifty pounds, leaped into Cas’ arms and licked his face as she balanced her front legs on his broad shoulders. Dean pulled out his phone and snapped a quick photo. Whether that picture would be used for blackmail or a gift later would be determined by Cas’ future behaviour.

“So, uh, Kim thinks you’re good enough to take Faith into the ring for her,” Dean called out, shifting uncomfortably in the hot sunlight. “That Jesse kid’s gonna show you what to do.”

Cas put Faith back on her feet and slipped the toy into his back pocket. “I thought you said I was ‘absolute shit at blending in?’”

Dean winced. Yeah, those words had come out of his mouth earlier that morning when Cas was being weird about ordering his coffee. The fallen angel still hadn’t picked up on the social cues of humanity, the effect making Cas seem at best socially awkward and at worst some kind of serial killer; the John Wayne Gacy kind, not the Ted Bundy kind.

He averted his gaze from Cas’ hard stare and held up his hands in a soothing gesture. “I did. And to be fair, you were. You’re doing well here though, and you like that damned mutt for some reason.”

“She’s easy to relate to,” Cas returned, walking reluctantly back with Dean toward the building. Faith wedged herself in between the two of them, her head cocking in a look Dean would have classified as smug if he weren’t sane enough to realise dogs didn’t feel those kind of things. “She was bred for a purpose, trained for it, then was left. She’s unsure of what her purpose is now, where the future will take her. But she just wants a family: people to love and to have a purpose once more.”

Dean stopped, reaching out to grab Cas’ bare forearm. “You sure you ain’t projecting, man? Pretty sure dogs live in the moment or whatever. You’ve got family: me an’ Sam. You’re one of us.”

Dean immediately regretted his words as Cas’ face darkened and he jerked his arm back, taking one step into Dean’s space.

“I am _not_ one of you,” he growled tightly. “I will never be one of you. I have no Grace, so I cannot be an angel. I have no soul, so I cannot be human. What exactly am I, Dean? My people were not designed to be able to exist in such a lowly state. I am trying my best to have a purpose here, though my Father knows you have not made things easy for me.”

Cas stepped back and yanked open the door. “If I must live as a shadow of what I was once, what I once represented…”

He sighed, frustration tight across his shoulders as he warred with himself for control. “I want only your respect, perhaps your patience, but your pity? I need none of it. You look at me and you see something that is lost, broken. Perhaps I am. But I do not need you, Righteous Man, to fix me. I have not fallen so far as that.”

_‘Except that I used to belong to a much better club. And now I’m powerless. I’m hapless; I’m hopeless.’_

The door slammed shut, leaving Dean blinking and wavering in his emotions as the words of a drugged out other Castiel echoed in his mind. Zachariah’s version may not have come to pass, but he had been eerily close.

He sent a tight smile and nod to the suited exhibitor watching the hushed exchange and swore under his breath.

_“Dude, Bruce Banner is about one stubbed toe from going full Hulk. Fair warning,”_ he texted quickly to Sam.

He hurried back inside the building and weaved between the crowds to get back to the setup. Kim was nowhere to be found, and Storm and Ryder’s empty crates told Dean the assistants were over by the juniors’ competition. Muttering darkly under his breath, he grabbed the judging program and quickly scanned for what ring Cas would be in.

Dean’s phone vibrated in his pocket. _“I have eyes on The Incredible Hulk. Ring 4, talking to some guy with dreads. Seems okay to me,”_ Sam’s text read.

Relieved, Dean made his way across the building to Ring 4, dodging trolleys of crated anklebiters and a crowd of hairsprayed poodles.

Cas was tucking in his shirt as Jesse attached a folded piece of cardboard with the number six on it to his left bicep with a rubber band. Cas nodded at something the young man told him and adjusted Faith’s thin chain collar up higher under her jaw.

Dean held back, watching the exchange carefully. The only time Cas was snapping was when Dean was around which… fuck that hurt. Maybe he should step away. Maybe sleeping with the emotionally volatile fallen angel was the problem, and the cause of said volatility.

Just the thought made his chest ache, but he’d do it if he had to, for Cas, because he really lov- really liked the dude.

A bouncy male Malinois puppy entered the ring, signaling the start of the breed judging. He barked happily, leaping and tugging at his leash, his tail wagging as his handler laughingly scolded him.

Cas watched from ringside, occasionally pointing and asking Jesse a question. Cas had his head tilted a bit, eyes squinting in a familiar expression as he watched the ring procedure as carefully as if he were analyzing battle plans. Dean could almost see the gears whirring in Cas’ mind, the master strategist on full display.

Dean’s phone buzzed with another text from Sam: _“Want me to grab him before he goes in?”_

Dean caught Sam’s attention across the room and shook his head. He didn’t need his brother interfering directly unless it was absolutely necessary. That kind of coddling would send Cas off the deep end of righteous fury even faster.

Settling himself on a bench on the far side of the ring next to an older woman who shot him a dirty look, Dean pulled up his camera app on his phone. The judge seemed friendly, joking with the handlers and spectators. Dean prayed she’d be just as easygoing with Cas.

The official called out Faith’s class, marking on her clipboard when the other handler and Cas entered the ring. The handler turned and asked Cas a question and, upon receiving a nod in response, moved her dog out around the ring.

Dean leaned forward, zooming in on his phone to snap pics, ‘cause as much as he and Cas were at each other’s throats, the angel and the dog admittedly looked real fucking cute together. Besides, maybe it would make Cas smile, something Dean sorely missed.

Cas didn’t trip as he followed the handler in front of him. Dean had to give him credit, he was doing pretty good. Maybe millennia of imitating the constantly shifting human social patterns made the guy a quicker study than Dean had thought.  

Despite what Cas had said earlier, Dean didn’t pity him… he wanted him. It wasn’t just the sex, it was his smile, the bird-like way he tilted his head when he was confused by humans – again. The angel been through enough, they both had, and it made Dean a bit protective.

Cas finished the circle, looking stressed as he fussed over Faith and shifted her feet where they were supposed to be. Unlike Cas, Faith looked confident as she happily wagged her tail at him.

Approaching Cas, the judge smiled warmly, laughing at something he said to her. Faith stood calmly, her eyes never leaving Cas as the judge checked her bite and went over her. Seemingly satisfied, the judge pointed toward the corner of the ring and instructed Cas to take Faith down to the corner and back to her.

The woman next to Dean huffed as an apologizing Sam squeezed in front of her to crouch next to his brother.

Holding a hand up in Sam’s face, Dean cut him off and kept his eyes glued to the Malinois ring. The judge was asking for both dogs to move around the ring once more and Sam’s head was blocking the placement stanchions. Dean shoved him over, ignoring his brother’s yelp of surprise as he craned his neck to see what was happening.

“Stay down, I can’t see Cas’ ring with your fat head in the way,” he grumbled. 

“Why the hell does he have a dog anyway? We’re supposed to be watching Linda!”

“He’s been in a mood; the dog makes him happy, now shut your face,” Dean snapped.

The judge was looking back and forth between the two dogs, lingering a moment on Faith, then on the other. Whatever differences between the two were, Dean had no idea other than Faith being a bit more reddish than the other one. Human beauty pageants were a lot more interesting.

Finally, the judge smiled and pointed one finger to Faith, and then two fingers at the other dog.

Dean’s whoop of triumph startled Sam and earned him glares from some of the other spectators. He quickly composed himself, coughing into his hand and pointedly ignored Sam’s raised eyebrow.

“Look at the poor bastard; doesn’t even know he won,” he said hurriedly, nudging Sam with an elbow. “I’ll be damned. Again.”

Cas was looking at the judge like a deer caught in the headlights. She laughed at him and patted his arm as she handed him a blue ribbon, pointed to the official with the clipboard, and tapped his armband. He stroked Faith’s head and moved out of the ring, showing the official his armband number as he moved over to where Jesse stood.

Dean snagged Sam’s arm and hauled his brother upright. “C’mon, our witchy lady might be watching anyway since she was arguing with Kim after Mals yesterday, and I really don’t trust Cas to not get all smitey on her ass if he thinks she’s a direct threat.”

“Wait, Dean,” Sam sighed, giving him those fucking pity eyes – no wonder Cas hated the idea of Dean pitying him, those eyes were fucking awful. “He’s unstable, we’ve both seen it. He was like an overprotective guard dog last night at the tavern, I saw it when you guys went up to the bar.”

“Sammy… leave it.”

“I won’t; he’s lashing out at both of us-“

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “What did Cas do to you?” Complicated feelings toward Cas aside, no one fucking hurt his baby brother.

“Not the point, Dean. The point is: what’s he gonna do around people he doesn’t know? Maybe it’s too soon, man. Maybe he’s not ready for the stress of a hunt and we should pull him.”

Dean hesitated, eyes flicking toward where Cas stood. The angel met his gaze across the ring and he gave a soft smile before bending down to scratch behind Faith’s ears.

“No, he’s okay. Not unstable or anything like that; he’s just still adjusting. His whole world was just turned upside down, man,” Dean said quietly, ignoring the niggling doubt at the back of his mind regarding Cas’ stability. “You were right: he’s like me when Dad died. He’ll figure it out, we just gotta keep reminding him that the world ain’t black and white and we’ve gotta take precautions.”

Sam studied him for a moment and sighed, running a hand through his long hair. “You know him best. Just do us all a favour and stop poking the bear, okay? I keep worrying I’m going to leave you two alone and come back to him kicking the shit out of you – not that it wouldn’t be deserved, but still.”

“We’ve got ways of working out frustration,” Dean replied with a slight smirk. “Stop being a mom unless you’re prepared to get a perm and a minivan, Samantha.”

“I’ve seen those ways; I think old married couples were quieter and nicer to each other,” Sam laughed.

Dean’s retort was cut off as the official called in Faith and the winners of the other two female classes.

“Why’s he going back into the ring?” Dean asked, confused. Hadn’t Cas won? A kid shoved her way past Dean and Sam with a spaniel of some sort and Dean rolled his eyes. “Worse than those fuckin’ beauty pageant kids, I swear.”

“The judge will pick a winner for the girls out of the ones that won their classes. Jesus, Dean, didn’t you learn _anything_ yesterday? Or were you too busy flirting the whole day?”

The judge moved the three dogs around the ring together before having them stand in front of her. She moved down the lineup, studying each dog’s expression before moving onto the next. Cas fidgeted with the small piece of liver Jesse had given him and spoke quietly to Faith, occasionally shooting a furtive glance Dean’s way.

Smiling, the judge pointed to Faith. “Winners,” she announced, then pointed to the female in the front, “and Reserve.”

Jesse and Sam’s polite clapping were drowned out by Dean’s thundering shout. A broad smile was plastered on his face as he cheered, giving a thumbs up to the judge when she sent an amused look in his direction. Even Cas was grinning, a rare honest-to-God smile that lit up his eyes and made him look adorably goofy. For a second, Dean was jealous of the damned dog because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on the receiving end of one of those smiles. Faith bounced up onto her hind legs, tail wagging furiously as she barked at Cas for her treat.

“Rookie did it?” Kim’s voice floated from behind Dean as she squeezed her way over to Jesse. She handed him Bravo’s leash and a pair of ribbons. “Bravo got Winner’s Dog, but the major broke. What class is this?”

“Best of Breed,” Jesse replied.

Kim turned a grin on Dean and slapped his arm. “See? Told you to trust him! This judge is pretty fair; she judges the dogs, not the people. She’ll pick them for Best of Winners, just watch.”

~*~*~*~

“I can’t fuckin’ believe – _ow_ , Cas, _teeth_ – you won that stupid thing.”

Cas’ voice was a satisfied purr as he ran his tongue over the spot on Dean’s throat he had just bitten. “Have a little faith, Dean.” One hand impatiently pulled at Dean’s belt while the other slid up the faded Metallica t-shirt to play with a nipple. He paused, his breath warm on Dean’s neck. “I did, quite literally.”

“You had a little – Cas, no. No puns. You’re not funny,” Dean groaned, sinking onto the motel bed.

They were supposed to be grabbing a celebratory lunch, then meeting Sam back at the Big E to talk to Linda. Their prime suspect seemed to be unraveling, getting into a heated argument with another Aussie exhibitor that had to be broken up by the American Kennel Club rep. She was sulking around her RV in the parking lot with Sam staying behind to keep an eye on her, so Dean figured he and Cas deserved a little extra celebration.

“Puns are enjoyable. They were considered the height of comedy for hundreds of years in western culture,” Cas replied, quickly unbuttoning and tossing his shirt onto the cot. He prowled up the bed, shucking his jeans and boxers as he went. “This will be more enjoyable, however,” he murmured, his voice a guttural growl as he nuzzled Dean’s neck.

Dean arched underneath Cas and ran his hands down his torso. “Slow down a bit; we have plenty of time,” he soothed, pulling Cas upward to capture the angel’s lips. He was aware he was pushing the line between intimacy and fucking, but he really didn’t care. He had about enough of scraping himself up on the prickly fallen angel and never getting a bit of softness.

Dean groaned into Cas’ mouth as a tongue flicked against his teeth. His legs tangled with Cas’, one hand reaching down to fumble with the fly of his jeans while the other found Cas’ ass and squeezed.

“Are you telling me what to do?”

Shivering with anticipation, Dean smirked into the rough stubble under Cas’ jaw. The dangerous timbre of Cas’ voice did _things_ to Dean’s brain and he wanted more. He chuckled and nibbled the angel’s pulse point, alternating kisses between quick nips.

A hand clenched onto Dean’s shoulder, right over the faded handprint scar, the other grasping his jaw and forcing his head up.

“Dean,” Cas growled, sending desire singing through Dean’s body. “I believe I asked you a question.”

Dean lowered his gaze, but was unable to keep the cheeky grin off his face. “I’m sorry, _Commander_ ,” he drawled, accentuating the title with a lazy buck of his hips. “I was _requesting_ we take our time.”

“Do I take requests now?” The hand on Dean’s jaw shifted to his hip, slamming his ass back down to the mattress.

A whine escaped Dean’s throat at the rough handling. His cock throbbed uncomfortably in his underwear and he needed some relief.

“A suggestion,” he breathed, risking a quick caress to Cas’ cheek before straining upward to capture the angel’s lips again. It was a fine line to walk, between pushing every one of Cas’ buttons in hopes of a mindblowing fuck and offending the angel to the point where he walked away.

Biting into Cas’ lower lip, Dean mumbled, “Might even get through that stony angel barrier if we take it slower.”

Cas’ grip on Dean’s shoulder and hip tightened almost painfully as he thrust against Dean, the hard line of him easily felt through a layer of denim. With a grunt of discomfort, Cas broke the kiss and shoved Dean’s t-shirt up under his arms to expose more skin. The worn fabric tore at the seam and Dean’s cry of protest turned into a yelp as Cas sank his teeth into the top of a hip bone.

“Cas, okay buddy, slow down, man,” Dean protested as the touches grew rapidly rougher.

They had time for a leisurely fuck and Dean would be damned if he didn’t get time to enjoy it because Cas rushed straight into the main event. Running a hand gently through Cas’ hair, he attempted to soothe the angel through contrast.

The softer touches only seemed to further frustrate him. Cas’ pupils were blown wide with lust as he hissed a sharp “Quiet” and effortlessly flipped Dean onto his stomach. Nearly two-hundred pounds of lean muscle draped itself across Dean’s back. Arousal and three decades of survival instincts warred within him, simultaneously telling him to submit and to fight for freedom. Arousal was winning, but barely.

Lips, tongue, and teeth seared a trail down Dean’s exposed spine. Cas had one hand pressing Dean’s skull firmly into the mattress and the other yanked at his jeans, nails scratching marks into Dean’s ass as boxer-briefs and denim were abruptly pulled down. A snarl of frustration escaped Cas’ throat as the clothing caught on Dean’s upper thighs, his usual words of praise and firm orders hollowly missing from this particular encounter.

A snap of a cap and the scent of lotion hit Dean as he felt two lightly slicked fingers dip into the crack of his ass and self-preservation finally won out over lust. Cas was being too rough, too fast. Someone was going to get hurt and that ‘someone’ was probably Dean.

“Cas, stop, let me up,” he gasped as the fingers pressed against his entrance. Dean pushed himself up onto his elbows and attempted to roll over only to have Cas’ hand slam back into his hair. Fear ran icy tendrils through Dean’s body as he lashed out on pure instinct, old techniques learned in the back of seedy alleyways and truck cabins coming back to him in full force. Castiel may have had the advantage of superior strength, but the angel was expecting submission, not a fight.

Managing to twist his body and get leverage with one leg, Dean slammed up hard with his other knee to Cas’ stomach and scrambled for purchase as he tried to get off the bed and onto his feet.

Cas cursed in Enochian as he moved in a blur of motion, fist connecting viciously with Dean’s jaw. Stars danced before his eyes and his vision swam with the force of the blow. He’d at some point been knocked off the bed and instinctively curled into himself, spitting out blood onto the carpet.

“Cas, _stop,”_ Dean tried again, breath hitching in a sob that was half pain and half sheer terror. _"_ _Castiel. Stop!”_

A long moment of silence cued Dean to look up, still refusing to uncurl himself from his defensive position. Cas was on his knees, still completely nude, and was staring numbly at the blood on his knuckles. Dean’s blood. His eyes were blue once more, wide with shock and devastation. The hands began to shake and Cas lifted his gaze to Dean’s.

“Dean, I, I don’t…” Cas trailed off, horror coming onto his face as he realised what he had almost done. “I’m so sorry, Dean, I have no idea what just happened,” he pleaded, reaching out to touch the rapidly forming bruise along Dean’s jawline.

Dean flinched away, the events of Lucifer’s Crypt replaying themselves in his mind. He hadn’t recognized his Cas then either, but even that Cas had been controlled and deliberate. This Cas had gone nearly feral with lust. “Just don’t, man,” he bit out, clenching his jaw to keep from trembling. “Just give me a few, will you? I’m okay.”

More lies, just like how they avoided any discussion on Cas’ systematic beating of Dean in the Crypt. Repress: the Winchester Way of Life.

He shakily got to his feet, tugging his jeans and boxer-briefs back up into place with unsteady hands. His ripped shirt fell back down over his chest, covering the myriad of scratches and bruises Cas had left in his wake. Stepping carefully around the still kneeling Cas, Dean shuffled his way into the bathroom and shut the door. The whirring of the fan drowned out the shuddering gasps he let escape and he collapsed against the basin, entire body quivering with released tension and fear.

Something was horribly wrong with Cas. Mood swings and general irritability could be passed off with the angel’s depression at losing his Grace, Heaven’s closing, and his own guilt at the role he played in it, but this was something else entirely.

Dean wasn’t new to the darker and rougher sex scenes. He admittedly thrilled at submitting to a dominant partner and wasn’t afraid of mixing in a little pain with his pleasure. However, the last time he had felt genuine fear like that during sex, he had been all of seventeen years old and in the backseat of some nameless john’s pickup. He had pulled a knife then, managing to get away and running the entire way back to the motel he and Sam had holed up in while waiting for word from their father.

Sex with Cas had always been rough, always skirting the edge of too much; Dean had trusted his friend’s usually steady control and had been soothed by the quiet but constant praise. He should have known better.

He glanced up to survey the damage to his face in the mirror and grimaced. His lip was split in two places and a dark bruise was angrily forming across the right side of his jaw and drifting up his cheek. It would be impossible to hide from Sam.

Sam. Shit. They still needed to head back to the Better Living Centre to meet up with him and get concrete proof on Linda being their big bad. Gritting his teeth, Dean wrenched on the faucet and splashed some water over his face, attempting to clean up the blood and tear stains. He hastily fixed his hair into some semblance of normalcy and briefly mourned the loss of the ruined t-shirt. Taking a deep breath and schooling his face into careful neutrality, he turned the tap off and exited the bathroom.

“C’mon, get dressed. Sam’s going to be –“ Dean trailed off as he looked around the small room. Cas’ clothing was gone from where it had been haphazardly thrown around the room and the angel was nowhere to be seen. Storming over to the bedside table, Dean snatched his cell phone and quickly checked the lock screen.

_“Where the fuck are you guys? Linda’s gone back to the RV and she’s pissed. Call me.”_

Four texts and a missed call from Sam. He swore, threw on an overshirt, and grabbed the Impala’s keys from the table before bolting out the door to his car, his phone cradled against his ear as he furiously attempted to reach his brother.

“Fucking hell, Cas, you picked a hell of a time to go dark side,” he snarled as the Impala’s engine roared to life.

~*~*~*~

_“This is Dean’s other, other cell so you must know what to do.”_

Sam frowned at his phone and hit the end call button. Calling Cas’ phone hadn’t been any better, fucking Winchester luck; the damned thing had gone straight to voicemail. He downed the last of his water bottle and headed across the parking lot to the trash can, keeping one eye on the RV Linda Bynes had disappeared into. Dean and Cas had been gone close to an hour and he wasn’t looking forward to having to confront Linda without backup. He fiddled with the lockpicks in his pocket impatiently. Where the fuck was his brother?

The warm New England sun was out in full force, heating his body and making him irritable. Sam squinted and shielded his eyes against the glare, retreating further into the shade of the building. Linda had to be coming out soon; she had stormed into the RV after the argument with the AKC rep. The working group was set to start in less than a half an hour and she would still need time to groom her dog before entering the ring.

Sam’s phone buzzed against his thigh and he tore his gaze away from the RV to pull up his text messages. Still nothing from Dean, just a picture of Riot sprawled upside down in an armchair from Amelia. He smiled, heart beating a little faster as it did with every text Amelia sent. She hadn’t questioned why he was at a dog show in the first place, but instead insisted on pictures and details. A second text came in on the heels of the photo of Riot, asking if he and his brother had managed to kill each other yet.

_“Not yet, but probably more of a contest between me and our friend to see who kills Dean first_ _,"_ he sent, along with a quick picture of himself frowning in the hot sun with his hair pulled back off his neck.

A scream sliced through the buzz of nearby conversation and moving vehicles. Sam’s head whipped up and he shoved his phone back in his pocket. The door to Linda’s RV was open and he could see a young assistant backpedaling frantically out of the vehicle. Sam launched himself forward into action, barely managing to catch the young woman’s arm before she fell off the steps. Her face was deathly pale and she shook violently, her shrieks having subsided in her terror.

Drawing his Beretta out of the back of his waistband, Sam darted past the assistant and up the steps into the RV’s interior. The acrid stench of blood baking in the oppressive heat of the vehicle nearly choked him as he stepped carefully around bits of unidentifiable flesh and puddles of gore. A body sat slumped in one of the seats at a table, the head and one hand melted beyond recognition. The spray of blood arched across the drawn curtains and ceiling, dripping into a slowly growing pool under the corpse.

Sam coughed and took one hand off his gun to cover his mouth and nose with his t-shirt. He had only a minute or two before others would come rushing in behind him. A gleam of metal around what remained of the body’s neck caught his eye and he grimaced, stepping around a clump of hair and brain matter to get a closer look. A bloodstained pentacle dangled from a silver chain and Sam sighed heavily.

Unless Linda’s spell had backfired in a major way, it was back to the drawing board with a witch still on the loose.


	6. That Kind of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas forces himself to look at what he's becoming. Sam confronts Dean about his feelings for Cas and what do about unstable fallen angels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: "That Kind Of Love" - Alison Krauss
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: feelings, some angst, Cas and Dean being dumb, cute dogs.
> 
> We've hit the halfway mark! Thank you all who have left feedback or kudos, it really makes my day. :) I've taken some liberties with angel lore here in a way that I hope makes sense.

Part 6

“If you’re going to sit around sulking all night and not tell me what’s going on, the least you could do is help me with last walks for the dogs,” Kim commented, standing in front of Castiel and crossing her arms. “Dana’s still feeling sick; Abbie and I could use the help.”

Castiel lowered his gaze back to his hands, running one finger over his knuckles where Dean’s blood had stained them. Kim had found him wandering in a daze on her way back to the motel from the expo centre and had wordlessly taken him in and helped him clean himself up. Humans continued to surprise Castiel; this woman had known him for all of two days and yet still invited him back with her without a second thought. While he was grateful for her generosity and trust, it was no wonder this species had such a high mortality rate.

“Will you at least let me call Dean or his brother and let them know you’re safe?”

Castiel’s head snapped up. “No!” he barked, harsher than he’d intended.

Kim raised an eyebrow at him, body tensing but not backing down. Castiel’s respect for her rose when she didn’t turn away.

“Apologies, but please, I really doubt Dean wants anything to do with me right now.”

Kim gave him a long look before tossing a thin kennel lead into his lap. “Then get up and help me walk some dogs. No free rides around here; you can stay as long as you’d like, but you’ll work.”

Hauling himself to his feet, Castiel winced as the muscles in his back protested. “Yes, of course. I don’t mean to be a burden,” he murmured, guilt and self-loathing warring within him. He _needed_ to be useful again. Work would distract him from the tumult of thoughts in his mind.

“You’re not; helping would be as much for you as it would be for me,” Kim soothed, starting to reach a hand out to pat his shoulder before stopping short.

Castiel gave her a faint smile of gratitude. Despite her kind nature, he didn’t want her to touch him; the only touch he could tolerate on a regular basis was Dean’s. It seemed he’d ruined that too.

“Sitting and feeling sorry for yourself isn’t helping you feel better, is it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Come for a walk with me then. You can take Faith and we’ll go around the block. I’ll take Squall and get the girls to take care of the other three.” Kim smiled and patted her middle. “I could do with the exercise anyway!” She squeezed past Castiel and banged on the bathroom door to yell instructions to Abbie.

Dana remained curled up on one of the two beds, oblivious to the world in her slumber. Castiel sighed, reaching two fingers out to brush her forehead. Without his Grace he couldn’t ease the discomfort of her illness. He murmured a quiet prayer to his Father anyway, hoping that He heard His wayward son, even if He didn’t listen. He moved the small bottle of pink liquid on the bedside table within her reach and checked to make sure the teen’s water was still cold.

The interior of Kim’s van was cool as Castiel left the motel room and slid the van’s door open. Dogs spun around in their crates to watch him and the specially designed fans whirred to keep the air circulating.

Faith’s tail thumped against the plastic walls of her crate and she hooked one paw into the door above the attached fan. Opening the crate door and looping the kennel lead over her head, Castiel led the Malinois out of the van to wait for Kim to get Squall out and leashed. Her whole body wriggling and her mouth open in a happy, easy smile, Faith pressed herself insistently against Castiel’s legs before jumping up excitedly.

“Yes, I missed you too,” Castiel said softly into Faith’s ears as she stretched to lick his chin. Her tail beat a frantic pattern against his legs, front paws hitting the ground as he knelt next to her. “I’m not sure why you like me so much. I’m nothing of note any longer,” he sighed, allowing her to lean her full fifty pounds into his chest.

Faith gave Castiel’s cheek one last lick before spinning around and wiggling at Kim as she approached the van.

“We’ll go for a few blocks and head back here,” Kim said, her voice muffled as she leaned into the van to let Squall out. The big male hopped out of the van and shook himself once before giving Castiel a cursory look. “We can order something for delivery when we get back if you feel like you can eat something.”

Castiel nodded absently, not really desiring food but not wishing to argue, his emotions too raw for him to feel in control. He fell into step next to her, Faith sniffing curiously at the sidewalk. They walked in silence for the first block, only broken with Kim’s sharp German command to Squall to leave the remains of some small creature on the side of the road.

Faith often glanced up at Castiel and poked his thigh with her nose when he wandered too deep into his own thoughts. Lifting his face to the sky, he sighed, wishing he could feel the sun warming his feathers one last time. Being grounded was claustrophobic, unnatural and disconcerting to a creature of flight.

“Tell me about Dean.”

Castiel snapped his attention back to Kim, feeling defensive. “I don’t think Dean is the best topic for discussion at the moment,” he rumbled, voice a low warning.

Kim remained unfazed by the implicit threat. Or unimpressed. Castiel wasn’t sure which was worse. “Cas, I’ve seen the way you two interact. The love between you is stronger than whatever bullshit you’re thinking is coming between you. I grew up with veterans, Cas, was married to one for many wonderful years after I divorced my first husband. I’ve seen trauma, seen the aftermath of war. Dean has an advantage that I never had with Paul – he’s a soldier too. He understands more than I ever will of what you’re going through and while I can see why you’d want to strangle that boy at times, you can’t push him away every time you hit a bump in the road.”

“I need him to be safe,” Castiel replied after a moment’s silent thought. He _couldn’t_ protect him, not anymore. Worse was that Castiel himself had become the thing Dean needed protection from.

“I rescued him, saved his life. That’s how we met,” he continued. “From that moment on, my entire existence was to guard him, even at the cost of my own life. I was made for war, like my brothers, and was trained to have a purpose.”

He shook his head, shoulders slumping forward. For a moment the wings he could no longer reach felt heavy, drooping with shame. If he still had his Grace, those wings would be clipped, flight feathers cut in disgrace. “I would do anything for Dean… and for his brother. Even if that means walking away. Even if that means I protect them from the monster within me.”

“It’s all right to feel overwhelmed, Cas,” Kim said quietly. “Anyone would, especially coming into such a huge change in your life.”

“I lose control. These feelings,” he sneered, “these emotions, they just keep… they are as implacable as the Will of the Divine,” Cas’ voice cracked and he stared at his feet once more. Faith tugged at the end of the leash, urging him on as Kim hesitated at his side.

“I try to do what I think is right,” Castiel rambled. “How can I stop from becoming like my brothers? Is the darkness inevitable? Today was inexcusable; I hurt Dean, would have kept hurting him had he not stopped me. Even my devotion to him did not stay my hand.” He ran trembling fingers through his hair, wishing his chest would stop aching. Human emotions were so _painful._

“Cas,” Kim said softly, one hand coming up slowly to tilt his chin up to make eye contact. “Are you a danger right now? Do you feel like you’re going to lose control?”

He shook his head. “No. I only feel shame. I want to cure Dean’s pain and be useful again.”

“And yet you’re feeling some pretty strong emotions right now.”

“Yes.”

Kim smiled and tapped his cheek. “You can control yourself; you’re strong enough. You’re more than a bodyguard or a soldier. You’re worth more, to everyone but especially to Dean. Your value to him is simply being you.” She led him over to a bench by the side of the road and urged him to sit next to her, the dogs sniffing around happily.

“Let me tell you about my late husband, he was a Navy SEAL, served overseas for many years after his enlistment. The military shaped him into a living weapon and he was one of the best. On his last tour, Paul was injured by an IED that took out the vehicle just in front of his in the convoy. He was the only survivor of the explosion. He never regained full hearing back in one ear and damaged his knee permanently. He was discharged and sent back home, to me and the dogs.

“The first six months he refused to talk to me beyond things like ‘what’s for dinner’ and ‘a client called for you.’ He stayed at home, slept most days, and when he wasn’t having nightmares or flashbacks, he was a moody bastard. I let him have his space, tried my best to go back to the way we used to live, but there was this rift between us that couldn’t be crossed. A year after he got home, he lashed out at me and my last Malinois – Faith’s mother – bit him. He moved out, tried to get help through the VA, but it was about six months after that we got word that Paul had killed himself in his room.”

Castiel opened his mouth to protest but snapped it shut. He _had_ considered killing himself, thinking it was the only honourable thing to do after the mass slaughter of his brethren, and believing it was the only path after the near murder of Dean while under Naomi’s control. He simply hadn’t turned to those thoughts recently because losing his Grace was worse than what death could have held. A fitting punishment to be sentenced to crawl in the mud with the humans he had chosen over his family. Dean and Sam’s generosity in taking him in was more than he deserved. He was a monster and monsters didn’t deserve such kindness; no matter how much he craved it.

His brooding was cut off as Faith hopped up into his lap, one foot landing heavily into his gut. Letting out an undignified yelp, Castiel immediately held onto the dog and adjusted her before she stepped on any other portion of his anatomy. He shot her a glare as she settled comfortably on his lap and she licked the tip of his nose.

Squall crawled out from under the bench and huffed a quiet bark at the pair, looking over his shoulder to Kim for reassurance.

Kim’s full belly laugh reminded Castiel painfully of Dean’s. “You can’t fool the dog, my friend,” she chortled, ruffling Squall’s ears as the German Shepherd leaned against her leg. “I’m not saying what happened to Paul and myself will happen with you and Dean, but had we simply _talked_ , perhaps we would have had a different outcome. Talking won’t magically change things, don’t get me wrong, but if you can get some kind of comfort or clarity from it, then it’s worth it.”

Faith tucked her head under Castiel’s chin, balancing her weight on his thighs and leaning into his chest. Her ears folded back against her skull and she heaved a contented sigh. “I’m not sure how to even begin. Dean doesn’t do ‘chick-flick moments,’” he said at last, hands moving off Faith to do air quotes. “Even if he did, I’ve attacked him twice within the past year. How can he forgive me?”

Kim leaned back against the bench and studied Castiel. “It’s a fucked up situation, I’ll give you that. But what you boys have seen… I’m pretty sure that’s more fucked. You need to get on your knees and ask for forgiveness. You need to tell him you’ll try to fix yourself so it doesn’t happen again and you need to mean it. No one should stick around through abuse, but what happened to you two? I doubt that’s what it was. I’m not saying it couldn’t go there if you don’t fix your shit, but I don’t think it’s there yet.”

“It isn’t his duty to repair me.”

“Bullshit. From what you’ve told me, you two have been saving each other. Maybe it’s your turn to be pulled out of the fire. Why can’t you be the one worth saving?”

Her words echoed the words he had spoken to Dean so long ago. Castiel didn’t have an answer to that.

~*~*~*~

By dinner time, Sam hadn’t pried out any details as to why Dean’s lip was split and jaw dark with bruises; he had an idea, but he wasn’t ready to run with it. Given that Cas hadn’t accompanied Dean to the show and wasn’t anywhere to be found at the motel… it kind of spoke for itself. Still, he was holding off on judgement until he got the story from one of them. Knowing his brother, that would be some time within the next hundred years.

Thoughtfully, Sam logged into Skype and dialed Charlie, hoping a meeting with her and Kevin would shed some light on both the case and his previous questions about Cas.

At Sam’s insistence, Dean had at least agreed to ice his jaw and was glaring at the photos Sam had managed to snag of the crime scene. Charlie and Kevin shoved each other for space on the webcam as they bounced ideas off each other, the video’s quality hitching in the motel’s low bandwidth.

“So it’s definitely Linda, right? No way it could be a bait and switch?” Kevin asked, squinting at the photos Sam had emailed.

“Definitely, her assistant identified her body at the crime scene, and everything else matched up,” Sam replied. “Should be able to get the full police report tomorrow and coroner’s report to confirm.”

Charlie typed something on her laptop and took a sip of her Mountain Dew. “I take it you want little ol’ me to hack into the database and get those for you?” She grinned over the top of her soda can, eyes lighting up at the prospect of stretching her skills.

“If you can, that would be great. I was able to talk to her assistant for a few minutes after the police left, and I’m going to see if I can get some information on the argument she was having before she was murdered.” Sam sat back in his chair and angled his body toward the desk fan. The air conditioning was on, but he’d hesitate to call it working. Stale air blew around the room, cutting through the humidity but doing nothing to actually cool.

“Check with your Aussie contacts and those sisters you were talking to,” Dean said absently as he swiped through the photos on the tablet. “I’ll ask Kim if she heard any gossip later tonight or tomorrow morning.”

“I emailed you what I found on that other project you asked about, Sam,” Kevin said, shooting a furtive glance at Dean. “Was good to take a break from the tablet, so thanks. It was pretty neat stuff. Scary, but neat.”

Which was probably Kevin-speak for ‘you guys are screwed and have a ticking time bomb fallen angel with you.’

Sam grit his teeth and nodded his thanks. He had debated bringing up Cas’ behaviour with Dean while Charlie and Kevin were on the line for backup, but one look at his brother’s face when he had shown up at the crime scene told him to save it.

“Honestly, I had expected Sam to have smuggled a puppy into the car by now,” Charlie commented as she leaned back in her chair. “You’re letting me down, boys. At least Dean’s living up to my expectations of getting into fights; girl not interested or did you hit on a repressed straight guy again?”

“That was _one_ time and you know my judgement gets flawed with tequila,” Dean grumbled.

Opening his email on his phone, Sam glanced at Dean, carefully noting his older brother’s closed-off body language and clenched jaw. Time to change the topic. Sam wasn’t looking forward to playing marriage counselor later as it was; the things he did for his brother and his almost but not quite brother in law.

“Charlie, do you think you could get into Linda’s email? Anything at all we can figure out about who she was interacting with this weekend would help; clients, handlers, vendor receipts, whatever you can dig up,” Sam asked, snapping a quick picture of Linda’s business card he had snagged from the trailer. He sent the picture and opened his email back up, finding Kevin’s message and attached files amongst two Biggerson’s coupon offers.

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie waved her hand dismissively. “Keep us posted on everything and say hi to Feathers for us when he gets back.”

Kevin rolled his eyes, the prophet having been the victim of one too many coffee-deprived fallen angel tantrums.

“Will do; night, guys.” Sam waved and Dean grunted, sulking further down into his seat and poking at the tablet.

Shutting down the laptop, Sam quickly scanned the email and attached files Kevin had sent. There was more speculation on the effect the act of Falling had on an angel than there was actual evidence, but all the sources tended to agree that a fallen angel was a timebomb waiting to explode – the more powerful the angel originally, the more prone they were to falling prey to humanity’s sins.

Getting to his feet, Sam took the phone with him, swiping through the information as he read. He grabbed two beers and kicked the refrigerator door shut behind him, wordlessly handing one to his brother. This news would go down better with alcohol. He had palmed the keys to the Impala earlier to ensure Dean couldn’t blow him off and run away.

“So, I asked Kevin to do some research for me on something that’s been in the back of my head for a little bit,” Sam began, thumbing at the label of the beer bottle, “and I really should have seen the signs earlier. I guess I just was just so focused on getting better and on my feet again that I just kind of glossed over it, y’know?”

Dean tensed, pausing for a beat before popping the bottle cap with his ring and taking a careful sip. He studiously avoided eye contact with his brother. “It’s about Cas, isn’t it?” Dean asked quietly, voice rough with concealed emotion.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I had Kevin and Charlie look into fallen angels for me – ones who weren’t reborn like Anna was. Dean, I don’t even know if Cas knows how bad he’s getting.” He shifted in his seat and took a draught of his beer. “There’s not a whole lot of lore on fallen angels; we know their Grace is the source of their power, but there are a lot of theories that it blocks out a lot of emotions for them and gives them a bit more control. Without Grace or a soul, they’re vulnerable to sin, specifically the seven deadly sins.”

“I call bullshit, we killed those demons, remember?”

“Yeah, the personification of those sins, but the sins themselves still exist in everyone. You can’t look at yourself and say lust or gluttony don’t exist, Dean,” Sam argued.

Dean rolled his eyes and snorted. Flicking the bottle cap at his brother, he rubbed his non-bruised cheek and scowled. “Fine, yeah, I get it. So Cas is experiencing all those sins and can’t control himself, basically?”

Sam pitched the bottle cap back. “Essentially. He already had pride and wrath down as an angel, but now that everything’s kicked into overdrive with him, we’re seeing it magnified. That’s why he’s been getting more aggressive lately and changes personalities at the smallest signs of stress. He can control himself for the most part, but the second he starts to stress or experience high levels of any kind of emotion, those aspects take over. Hell, even sloth and gluttony have been pretty obvious with him; he sleeps all the time and eats more than any human should be capable of.”

“So how do we fix him?” Dean snapped. “Find some sort of celestial Xanax equivalent? Trans-species therapy?”

“I don’t know that we _can_ fix him. Short of getting his Grace back, there isn’t really a ‘cure’ anyone has found, and as a seraph, he’s pretty high up there as far as angelic ranking and raw power goes.” Sam hesitated, unsure if he was doing the right thing by even broaching the subject with his brother. “Most of the ones in the lore were essentially put down. They turned into mindless killing machines. Without purpose or Grace or the support of their brothers, they just became rabid animals.”

Dean’s fist slammed down on the table, knocking over his beer bottle and sending Sam scrambling to keep the laptop and tablet dry. “Cas is not a fucking _animal_ , Sam. He’s our family; we’re not putting him down like a goddamn dog who bit his master. We’ll find a way to help him.”

Electronics safe from the rapidly spreading beer puddle, Sam spread his hands wide and leaned away from Dean. “Dude, I want to help him just as much as you do. I’m just letting you know the stakes here.”

“I know the fucking stakes! I’d rather see him mindless and goddamn brainwashed by the God Squad like in the Crypt again than what I saw this afternoon!”

Filing the first part of Dean’s outburst away for later questioning, Sam seized the second half before Dean could storm out. “So it _was_ Cas who hit you today. Was it unprovoked? Dean, we need to be out looking for him before someone else gets hurt!”

“I hit him first,” Dean said angrily, slamming back down in his chair and planting his elbows on the table. He laid his face in his hands, shoulders slumping in defeat. “He’s with Kim; Abbie sent me a text saying he’s safe and staying with them for dinner.”

“Dean. What was the fight about? You guys bitch at each other all the time, but I’ve never seen you take a swing at him.”

Dean’s neck flushed, red creeping up to his ears. He looked pointedly away.

Exasperation was starting to set in. “Dude, I don’t care about what beef you two – _oh._ ” And now Sam was definitely the world’s most oblivious brother ever, ‘cause doing a mental recap of the week? Yeah, now it made sense. “Did he… did he force you?” he asked quietly, one hand reaching out to touch Dean’s arm.

Dean shrugged him off and kept his eyes on his beer bottle. “No, it’s not – it wasn’t – like that. We’ve had this, this thing, for a few months now; like friends with benefits, y’know?” Sam raised his eyebrows and nodded. Kevin won the betting pool, apparently. “Not that you want details but –“

“Trust me, I really don’t.”

“Shut up. If I don’t get this out now, I never will,” Dean snapped, glaring at Sam over the top of his beer. “We’ve been getting, I dunno, darker, I guess. Like kink and shit, which I’m totally on board for, but he’s been getting rougher every time. Today he wasn’t anything I recognized, he wasn’t _Cas._ I started it, but he was getting out of control and I told him to back off but he didn’t - ” He looked back down at the table, tracing the pooled condensation with a fingernail. “So I kicked him. It got him off me, but he took a swing at me. Hence this,” he finished quietly, gesturing to his face.

“Lust,” Sam pointed out. “Another sin. Greed too, you could make a case for; it goes hand in hand with lust in that situation. Again, not that I want details, but how did you get away from him? Safeword?”

Dean blushed harder and kicked his brother under the table. “Dude, really?”

“Really. If there’s a way to break him out of these ‘sin outbursts’ or whatever, we need to figure it out.”

“No, we never used a safeword,” Dean grumbled. He pointed a finger at his brother. “And shut up about safety, I’ve dipped my toes into kinkier shit than this before, I know about using a system. It just wasn’t necessary until recently. It’s Cas, yeah? I trust – I trusted him. I don’t know what broke him out of it; when he went all Terminator on my ass in Lucifer’s Crypt, something snapped him out of it then too. That was when he was all Graced up and he kept almost arguing with someone, like he was being controlled. This time he was just acting on instinct or whatever.”

Sam drummed his fingers against the table in thought. “We have to talk to him about it. Kevin’s researching more and working on those old Enochian texts to see if there’s any information; it looks like some of the Men of Letters had some contact with rogue angels and we have some lore that we haven’t gone through.” He picked up his phone and forwarded the email to Dean. “Take a look through it and see if anything echoes what you’ve experienced with him. I’ve only seen the obvious stuff, and he’s more or less kept his temper in check around me, so it’s gonna be on you. Can you handle that?”

“What the fuck are we supposed to say to him? Keep your Zen or we’re gonna drug you up to your eyeballs to make sure you don’t Hulk out and kill us all?”

“If he gets that bad, yeah. In the meantime, we need to keep him low stress and avoid anything that causes high emotions. Keep everything in moderation with him. That means you two, as much as I actually support you two figuring yourselves out, need to take a break.”

Dean snorted. “How is he supposed to work the case, Sam? Sit in the motel and play Angry Birds?”

“If we can’t trust him to control himself, what else are we supposed to do?” Sam shot back. “Do you want an armed, unstable celestial creature who’s stronger and faster than you at your back when things get hairy? It may just be a witch hunt, but witch cases haven’t exactly ever gone according to plan with us. Can he handle that kind of stress? He got possessive over _pizza_.”

Dean glared in stony silence, jaw clenched. Sam knew this song and dance and decided to press home his advantage before his brother could think of a retort.

“Dean, answer me honestly, with no bullshit emotional constipation about chick flick crap. Do you love him?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sammy, what kind of –“

“Do you love him?” Sam barked, raising his voice to drown out Dean’s protesting.

Dean’s jaw clacked shut. He held Sam’s glare before sliding to the floor. Silence stretched awkwardly across the table for several long moments.

Sam sunk back into his chair. “I thought so,” he said quietly. He ran his hands through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh. “Does he know?”

“No.” Dean’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat, still avoiding eye contact with Sam. “No, we just, y’know, fuck. We don’t talk about it.”

“Because _that’s_ healthy.”

“Shut your face, Sasquatch,” Dean snarked, voice holding no rancor and holding steadier now that the familiar banter was coming easier. The further out of “chick flick territory” the better.

Sam had to admit he was impressed; he had known his brother and Castiel had years of unresolved sexual tension and feelings for each other, but he hadn’t expected them to ever act on it.

“So we’re on the same page? Talk to Cas when he gets back?” Sam ventured. Dean’s shoulders tensed once more and Sam quickly clarified. “About the sins and falling and all that. I’ll leave you to tell him your feelings alone when you’re ready. Just dude, please tell him. He loves you, that much is obvious, I just don’t think he knows how to love other than loving God.”

Dean grunted in affirmation and Sam decided to take it as a win. He reached across the table and snagged Dean’s empty beer bottle and drained the last of his own. Tossing the empties in the trash, he pulled two fresh ones out of the fridge and tossed one to Dean.

Leaning against the appliance, he said, “Are you okay? With what he did? I know it’s probably a dumb question but –“

“I’m fine, Sammy. Nothing an ice pack and some Tylenol won’t fix in a couple days.”

“Dean.”

“I said I’m fine,” Dean snapped harshly, his tone brooking no argument. The Dad Voice, Sam had always thought of that particular tone.

Nodding, Sam took a long pull of his beer and dropped the subject.

A knock at the door had both of them reaching for their guns, Dean moving to flank the right side of the door and clicking the safety off his pistol. Sam held his gun low, out of sight, and flicked the curtain back to check who their visitor was. He was fairly sure he had left no evidence at the crime scene and had made all the appropriate responses to the police when they arrived. The fake ID he had given them _should_ have been solid, according to Charlie, but one could never really know.

Castiel stood at the door, hands shoved awkwardly into the pocket of his jeans and sweat dripping down the back of his neck. Sighing, Sam nodded at Dean and set his gun down before yanking open the door. “Hey, Cas. Forgot your key?” he asked casually.

“Yes, my apologies,” Castiel murmured, sliding into the room and looking anywhere but at Dean. “Tomorrow’s show has been cancelled due to the murder. I heard some of it on the news while at Kim’s, but if you could fill me in…?”

Dean’s chair scraped noisily against the linoleum as he slumped back into his seat. Sam winced, feeling more than ever like the third wheel. He forced a smile onto his face, hoping to not stress the volatile angel any more than he had to. “Yeah, absolutely, man. We kind of need to talk to you about something first; sit down, I’ll get you some water.”


	7. Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean confront Castiel. Sam makes some strides toward his own future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: "Walk" - Foo Fighters
> 
> Chapter warnings: none
> 
> A continuation of the fallen angel lore from the last chapter - again, I hope it makes sense and fits with the existing SPN lore! Sam needed some love, so this is largely his chapter. This second show cluster is my favourite of the year, and I wrote a good portion of the rest of this fic at the show site itself. Photos can be found on my tumblr! I'm also trying to do Amelia some justice and flesh her out as a character (since she was largely used as a plot device for manpain), as I think there's some potential for depth there.

Part 7

The discussion with Castiel had gone better than Sam had expected. The fallen angel had been defensive at first, but Sam was able to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory and keep it relatively practical. The incident between Cas and Dean that afternoon was not brought up and Sam was careful to make no indication that he knew anything had occurred.

For his part, Dean kept his contributions minimal and only filling in things Sam had either not known about or left out. Sam had to give his brother credit though: he was handling things far better than his usual ‘yell and storm out of the room’ routine.

“So does all of this make sense? Does it fit into what you know about angels who lose their Grace?” Sam asked, taking the empty glass from the bedside table and refilling it before handing it back to Cas.

Cas nodded his thanks. The poor guy looked like he had walked from Kim’s motel, his hair stiff with drying sweat and curling up at the back of his neck. “It makes sense, yes. I haven’t seen many long-term effects from my brothers who fell merely because their penalty was death. Very few survived long enough to determine what they would turn into.”

“Why didn’t we see it with Anna?” Sam asked. “Is it because she was reborn as human?”

“She wasn’t exactly human; she still had memories of her time as Anael and some psychic and magical power,” Cas pointed out. “But yes, I do believe her upbringing as a human child probably had something to do with keeping the sins at bay. She did not have a soul when you found her, however, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there were incidents we weren’t aware of.”

“Lust,” Dean said quietly. “The night you and Lieutenant Dickless came to get her, we, uh, we talked. Kind of. She mentioned sex was one of the great things about being human. I wonder if it was a mixture of self-control – being brought up as a relatively normal kid, she probably was taught to control her impulses – and, well, having lots of opportunity to practice it.”

Cas tilted his head curiously at Dean, eyes squinting slightly as he mulled over the concept. “She was well-fed. Like you and Famine.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Since she was reborn, she probably wasn’t as powerful as you are either, correct?” At Cas’ affirmative, Sam continued. “The stronger the angel, the more susceptible to the sins they are. Which is why we think yours are getting to a boiling point. You weren’t exactly low man on the totem pole.”

Cas frowned at the metaphor. “I was a seraph of the Second Choir. Angels like Zachariah, Ishim, Naomi, Joshua, and Anael were of the First Choir. Above them were the Archangels.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “So Anna would have been stripped of her power when she fell willingly, correct?”

“Yes, demoted to the lowest cherub ranking. It was her choice to tear out her Grace and be reborn.”

“So we’re talking night and day here,” Dean pointed out. “Yeah, Anna had her impulses, but they were controllable because they weren’t affecting her as badly as Mister Second Choir over here.”

“Anna might point toward it being a controllable thing though. She was taught how to be human and only ended up institutionalized because of her visions, not because she became violent or unpredictable. Cas can do the same thing, he just needs to be taught and needs an outlet,” Sam said.

Cas fidgeted uncomfortably with his water glass. It was one of the things Sam still had yet to adjust to: a fidgeting angel, especially one whose movements had been fairly robotic when not mid-battle. “I’m not human though, which is the problem. Humans have souls which helps them process emotions and morality; I do not.”

“You can handle emotions, Cas,” Dean said quietly, averting his eyes from the angel. “I’ve seen it. You have your own code of ethics, yeah, but it’s not that different from us. If you weren’t capable of giving a shit, you wouldn’t have stopped today.”

Sam pretended to be interested in an app on his phone. The last thing he wanted to do was jump in and scare Dean away from talking. He sent a quick group text to Charlie and Kevin, briefly apprising them of the situation.

“Dean, I could have maimed you. I could have killed you.”

Dean scoffed and looked away. “Yeah, well, hate to break it to you, buddy, but you’ve almost killed me a few times. At least now you can’t kill me by just blinking or whatever.”

At Cas’ pained expression, Dean quickly added, “But hey, now that you’ve got a heads up, you can control yourself better. We can get you doing yoga or meditation or some other shit Samantha likes, right Sammy?”

Sam set his phone back on the desk and nodded. “That’s not a bad idea, actually. I can show you some stuff if you’d like, Cas,” he offered. “You can also start running with me in the mornings. It’ll keep you from falling victim to sloth, and it’s pretty relaxing.”

“Great. Then both of you can smell like a locker room,” Dean grumbled.

Chuckling, Sam kicked his brother under the table and grinned at Cas. “Careful, Dean, you may even join us at some point.”

“Nah, I need my beauty sleep.” Dean stood and stretched, collecting empty beer bottles and tossing them in the general direction of the garbage. “So bottom line, Cas, you’ve gotta talk to us, man. If you’re feeling all Jekyll and Hyde, you’ve gotta let us know before it’s too late and you Hulk out. In the meantime, we just have to avoid any kind of trigger for you and keep you in moderation. Sam’ll find you some relaxation New Age-y crap and you two can bond over herbal tea and Lao Tzu quotes.”

At Sam’s surprised blink, Dean rolled his eyes. “What? I can’t have heard of the Tao Te Ching?”

“I just need you both to promise me that if I start to get out of control, you will stop me,” Cas said quietly. “You can’t hold back because you’re my friends. If I pose a real threat to you, well… I trust you to do whatever is necessary.”

“It won’t get to that point,” Dean said firmly, “so don’t start thinking along those lines.”

“We’re here to help, Cas. Trust us if you can’t trust yourself,” Sam added.

Cas was silent, lost in thought somewhere in that ancient mind of his. Sam glanced at Dean quickly, watching his brother bite a nail and lean on the cabinet. Nothing seemed to stress him out more than things involving the fallen angel; Sam couldn’t even remember seeing Dean like this during the apocalypse. They all had way too much on their plates to think much about anything other than getting rid of Michael and Lucifer. Now Dean was able to mother-hen with the best of them and was channeling all that worry toward Cas.

“Look, why don’t you go shower. Sam and I will check in with a few people and see what the plan is. We can grab a bite to eat after,” Dean said, looking at Sam for confirmation.

“I ate with Kim and the juniors, but thank you,” Cas replied as he rose off the bed.

He and Dean had a moment of awkward shuffling as they shifted around each other, both obviously trying to avoid physical contact. Cas snatched his duffel and, mumbling apologies, beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom.

As soon as the water turned on behind the closed door, Dean swore and kicked the chair over.

“What? I thought it went a lot better than I was expecting it to,” Sam protested, moving the chair out of his brother’s reach.

“He’s going to leave. Every time he goes all quiet like that and holds back, he leaves. Every damn time, Sam.”

Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was he the only one who could ever read between the lines? “Let’s get this case figured out first, but dude, you need to actually sit down and talk to him. And I mean full on chick-flick, ‘this is exactly how I feel about you,’ no-holds-barred talk. If you want him to stay and to get better, he needs a reason; you could be that reason if you let yourself be. But you’ve got to be open with him too. It has to go both ways.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see. Call Kim and that girl you’ve been talking to – Tracie? See where they’re headed next and when. I’m going to pick up burgers.”

~*~*~*~

_“You guys are all set for the Beau Rivage Motel in Old Orchard Beach,”_ Charlie’s text flashed across Sam’s lock screen. _“Scarborough, Maine is the next show on the circuit and most people seem to go directly there from Springfield.”_

Sam breathed a sigh of relief and set his coffee down on the table. Three days had passed since the murder and they had stayed in Springfield trying to make some sort of headway on the case. Dean and Cas continued to move awkwardly around each other and found excuses to not be in the same room at the same time, leaving Sam to be the middleman and subsequently Cas’ chaperone.

It was the safest option – Cas was in no danger of succumbing to lust around Sam and he fought far less with him – but Sam was exhausted. He and Castiel had gotten up at half past four in the morning the night of the murder. Nightmares plagued the fallen angel throughout the night and finally, after waking every hour to Cas’ anguished cries and angry growls, Sam dragged him outside for a brisk run. The next two mornings were only slightly better, but Cas put up little resistance to getting out of bed for the run, his desire to fall victim to sloth overrun by whatever nightmares haunted his sleep.

Coffee was enough to keep him going for now, but Dean needed to step up to the plate and talk to Cas.

Shoveling the last of his Caesar salad into his mouth, Sam forwarded the text to Dean, who was working undercover to get information out of the police. They hadn’t planned on using FBI covers so Dean had merely said he was “getting creative” with a smirk and shooed Sam out to the nearest café. As long as his brother wasn’t beating up people or offering sexual favours for information, Sam was content to let him work.

Cas had left immediately after breakfast to help Kim Dunn pack and work the dogs. Sam hadn’t heard from him since.

His phone trilled out his ringtone and he swiped it open as he collected his dirty plates. “Hey, Melanie, I was just about to call your sister.” Balancing his phone between his shoulder and cheek, he made his way over to the trash and set the plates and silverware in the tubs. “We got a room at the motel you recommended and we’ll be heading up this afternoon.”

“Sweet,” Melanie replied. “It’s right on the water and about a five minute walk from The Pier. Definitely worth it even if it’s not super close to the showgrounds.”

Loud barking came through the other end of the line and Sam winced.

“Sorry. Chance doesn’t like Kim’s German Shepherd special and we’re in the room next to them. Beth’s been pissy about it all morning. We’ll see you guys this afternoon?”

“Probably late afternoon, early evening, yeah.”

“I’ll let Tracie know. I can give Kim the heads up that you guys are on the way since she just got in.”

Which meant Cas was likely back at the motel. Hopefully he had the foresight to start packing and do one last hex bag sweep. At least Sam had the car so Dean and Cas wouldn’t end up alone together in the room.

“Thanks, Mel. See you tonight.”

“Later.”

Dean was waiting for him a few blocks away from the police station with a Red Sox baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and a pair of sunglasses shielding his face. He had lost his plaid overshirt somewhere along the way and was down to a plain navy blue t-shirt. A satchel Sam hadn’t seen before was slung over his brother’s shoulder.

“Drive casual,” Dean quipped as he settled into the passenger seat and tossed the satchel into the footwell. “We’re getting out of this shithole soon, right? Like tonight?”

Sam mentally counted to five before answering. Stealth evidently wasn’t in the cards for this case. “As soon as we’re packed up, we can head up to Maine, yeah.”

“Probably for the best.”

“You know Charlie could have gotten whatever you stole through hacking, right? Thereby giving us no need to skip town as fast as possible?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Relax, Samantha. This way is faster and gives us the original notes that might get overlooked in the official files. I was careful and Charlie can edit the security camera footage. Was like I was never there.”

_Six… seven… eight…_ Sam continued his earlier mental counting until he reached fifteen, just to be safe. “Fine. Whatever. Text Charlie and get her on it. We’ll go over the files when we get to the motel in Maine. Shoot one to Cas while you’re at it and ask him to start checking out. It shouldn’t take us long to pack up.”

“I’m driving up to Maine too. Don’t think I haven’t counted how many potholes you’ve let my baby hit.”

Sam let out a long-suffering sigh.

~*~*~*~

A few hours later, Sam awoke to the scent of the ocean fresh in the air and his brother complaining loudly about narrow parking spaces. The motel was two floors with a central seating area accessible by stairs in the middle of the parking lot. Tracie stood in the open doorway of one of the rooms and waved as the Impala’s engine cut off.

“Glad you guys could make it! Beth and Kim got into it not too long ago, so you’ve arrived just in time for the drama,” Tracie said, rolling her eyes. “Mel and I are still going to Clambake though!”

Sam got out of the car and stretched. It hadn’t been a bad ride once he squashed Dean’s complaints about not stopping for food with the promise of the Clambake Restaurant in Scarborough, but after the stress of the past few days, he was happy to be out of the car.

“Priorities.” Cas nodded sagely, clearly having been swayed by Dean’s seafood discussion.

Sam swung his duffel out of the trunk and over his shoulder as Dean jogged off to get the room keys. Cas was already making his way to Kim’s door, ignoring his own duffel bag in favour of subtly searching for hex bags. Sam was planning on attempting the same thing with Tracie and Melanie’s room with Beth, as well as the van if he could get them to take him up on an offer of help with the dogs.

“Everything been okay?” Sam asked, leaning on the Impala’s hood. “Melanie said you guys took on Linda Bynes’ Newfie client?”

“Yeah, Carson. Most of the other client dogs were picked up or sent home but Carson’s owners don’t want to interrupt his specials career so close to Nationals,” Tracie said with a roll of her eyes. “We’re just a little crowded right now until we get a break next week.”

“Let me know if you need some help; Cas has been helping Kim out so we’ll be here for the full four days.”

“I’ll let Beth know. I’d sure appreciate an extra hand!”

Dean arrived back with the keys and tossed a set to Sam. The motel room was tiny, the two queen beds separated by only a couple feet. The rest of the room consisted of a small washroom and mini fridge tucked into a corner. With a sigh, Sam resigned himself to banging his head on the showerhead the entire trip – even Cas, the shortest of the three by a bare inch, was going to have to duck his head. He squeezed past Dean, who was drawing small sigils around the door and windows, and sat down on one of the beds.

“So,” Sam began, warily eyeing the back of his brother’s head. “You and Cas okay?”

Dean paused mid-stroke with the Sharpie and his jaw clenched for a split second. “We’ll survive.” He finished the sigil with a defiant flick of his wrist and shuffled over to the window. Setting the Sharpie aside for salt, Dean pointedly turned his back on Sam and began lining the windowsill.

Right. Dean hadn’t spoken to Cas in any capacity other than discussing food then. Sam bit back a sigh and checked his phone absently; badgering Dean about it wouldn’t do anything at this point and he needed all of them to be on their game for the case.

A rap at the flimsy wooden door had Sam scrambling to shove his pistol back into his waistband and Dean tossing the salt containers hastily under the bed.

Melanie poked her head into the room, her blonde hair coming loose from the messy ponytail. “Beth says we’re too behind to go out for dinner, so she’s going to order pizza,” she sighed. “Kim, Abbie, and Dana said they’re ready to go when you guys are though.”

“Why don’t I stay behind and help?” Sam offered, quickly meeting his brother’s eyes.

Dean raised an eyebrow and gave a barely perceptible nod. With Beth taking over the recently deceased handler’s client, they needed as much information as they could get.

“Dean can bring back some takeout. You guys deserve a break.”

Melanie’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah. Check to make sure it’s okay, but whatever she needs, I can do it.”

The door banged shut behind Melanie and Dean whirled on his brother. “You better have some idea of what you’re doing and not just trying to get me and Cas to talk about our goddamn feelings.”

“Beth’s been around a long time,” Sam pointed out. “If you and Cas go to dinner with Kim, you’ll probably get some gossip about Linda’s death. I can stay here and see if Beth knows anything; she’s been so busy during the shows that I haven’t really had a chance to get much information out of her, just Tracie and Melanie. If I work with her, then I can make small talk and see what she knows.”

Dean scowled. “Fine. Keep your phone on and check it. If Cas loses it, I don’t care if you have to hotwire a car, you haul your ass to the restaurant.”

“Deal. I’ll finish up here, you go grab Cas and the girls.”

With ill grace, Dean grabbed his cell phone off the charger and left the room. Sam busied himself with finishing the warding and painting a devil’s trap under the doormat. The Impala’s familiar engine roared to life a few minutes later and Sam laid back on the bed, savouring the silence. His body was still stiff from the drive and as much as he told Dean he felt fine, his energy wasn’t what it had been before the Trials.

He let out a groan as he reached over to the bedside table as his phone buzzed a text message. Frowning, his slid his finger across the screen to unlock the phone.

_“Call me tonight after 7 please. I have some questions for you. -Amelia”_

Worry settled itself in the pit of Sam’s stomach. There had been total radio silence from Amelia since the murder apart from one message that had simply read _“sorry, been busy.”_ An image of Amelia’s face flashed through his mind, her eyes flicking black as the demon in her laughed mockingly. Shuddering, Sam shook his head, trying to clear the awful image from his mind. If she had been possessed, a demon would be more subtle when dealing with a Winchester, he was sure. Whatever the problem was, he’d have to wait another few hours to find out. Shoving the phone in his pocket, Sam hauled himself to his feet and out the door.

Beth wasn’t overjoyed at the prospect of showing Sam how to bathe five Newfoundlands, but she thanked him for his help and seemed satisfied with his work after watching him for a few minutes. Any chances at small talk Sam may have had were dashed as he was forced to bathe the massive dogs using the hose behind the motel while Beth blow dried them by her van in the parking lot. He’d have to pick her brain after baths were done.

It was hot work under the scorching summer sun. Sam opted to change into a light t-shirt and swim trunks after bathing the first dog. The hose at least kept him cool and the big dogs seemed to enjoy the water as much as he did.  Laughing, he rubbed down the third Newfoundland, Cruiser, while the young dog barked and tugged at the towel.

He spotted Beth out of the corner of his eye, leaning in the doorway and watching him with an unreadable expression on her face. She had never been overly friendly when he had interacted with her in Springfield; she was focused on business and getting her job done quickly and efficiently. Sam supposed he was fortunate that she was allowing him to work with her at all.

Untying Cruiser’s leash from the post, he gave the dog’s ears and head one last rub with the towel before handing him over to Beth. Cruiser shook himself vigorously, soaking them both.

“Get Sadie next, we’ll leave Carson for Tracie when she gets back,” Beth instructed, futilely wiping her glasses on her dampened shirt. “Nothing personal, but I want perfection on a new client and she’s been grooming since she was a kid.”

Sam nodded, stretching the kinks out of his back. “Dean texted me and said they’d be back in a half hour or so. Should give me time to get Sadie bathed.” He undid the tie holding his hair in a loose ponytail and ran both hands through the damp locks. “It was really good of you to take Carson on with such short notice. Did his owners know Linda personally?”

Beth shook her head, rolling her eyes as Cruiser stole the towel off her shoulder. “Not that I know of,” she replied. “I handled him to his championship, but we had a schedule conflict last year and his owners just booked with the first available handler on the AKC professional list. Linda finished his grand championship and he took a couple big group wins and a Best in Show under her.” She snorted and rubbed Cruiser’s head. “He’s the number two Newfie in the country and his owners didn’t want him to lose his momentum by switching handlers. I’m happy he’s back with me now; Linda never appreciated the quality of dogs she handled.”

“So I’ve heard,” Sam murmured in agreement, remembering Kim’s words about the late handler’s attitude. “I’m glad it worked out for you.”

Seemingly disinclined to comment further, Beth walked Cruiser back through the motel room toward the front parking lot. Sam sighed and, patting his face dry with his t-shirt, followed after her to collect his fourth Newfoundland.

It was shortly after seven by the time Dean and Cas arrived back at the motel with the girls and, more importantly, Sam’s dinner. Snatching the Styrofoam box from Cas, Sam took it and his phone out to the beach behind the motel and parked himself in the sand in front of a line of windswept wooden posts.

He had always loved the ocean and rarely got the chance to visit coastal cities on hunts – perhaps the saltwater kept most monsters at bay. The ocean breeze was welcome, cooling his overheated skin as he slowly enjoyed his lobster.

Behind him, voices drifted in and out as people walked from the beach back to the motel. Melanie called to him and waved as she and Kim’s two junior assistants jogged past and down toward the surf.

His immediate hunger satisfied, Sam wiped his butter-drenched fingers on a napkin and dialed Amelia’s number. Despite his apprehension about the call, he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face as she picked up.

“Hey, Sam, I’m glad you could call.”

“Of course. Is everything okay?” The image of the black eyed demon-possessed Amelia flashed through his mind once more and Sam stamped it down resolutely.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just long hours at the new clinic,” Amelia replied tiredly. Sam could hear the clatter of what sounded like dishes in the background. “I’m the only avian vet within a three hour radius so my day was filled with angry parrots who didn’t want beak or nail trims, most of which were _very_ overdue.”

“Not quite what you pictured when you picked exotics in vet school?”

“No, but I’m glad I’m actually needed up here,” she sighed. “The director of the zoo in Ashland wants to set up a meeting with me as an on-call avian specialist though. It’ll be neat to work with the big raptors even if it’s only part time.”

Sam grinned and took another bite of coleslaw. “That sounds awesome, Ames; I’m happy for you!”

“Yeah, well, I’ll get back to you on that after I wrestle a couple of emus.” The clink of ice cubes in a glass punctuated her words and Sam could picture the eye roll that undoubtedly came with it. “But I found something interesting last week that I wanted to talk to you about. I haven’t even really been sure if I wanted to ask you about them, but there are too many coincidences for me to overlook.”

“Sure.” Sam wasn’t sure, but he tried for casual.

Charlie had tried to erase his and Dean’s identities from when the Leviathans had impersonated them, but she could have easily missed a small town webpage or forum. Hell, Amelia could have even seen the news before she had even met Sam and finally put two and two together.

Someone leaned against one of the wooden posts behind him and Sam shifted, turning away. Hopefully if it was Dean, he’d get the hint and let him have a bit of privacy.

“One of my techs is obsessed with this trashy book series; it’s like _Twilight_ or _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ or something like that, but way more over the top. She gave me the first book to read and, apart from the horrible writing, the thing that stood out to me was the main character’s name was Sam.”

Sam let out a shaky breath. Fucking Chuck. Probably fucking Becky Rosen too, since Charlie had pointed out the series had continued online even in Chuck’s absence. “Good name choice,” he said lamely. “It was pretty bad?”

“Mhm,” Amelia hummed, and Sam got the sinking feeling he was being baited. “Horrible. Stupid ghost stories and monster hunting, and honestly, I would have stopped reading them if not for a few things. The character that has your name also is described an awful lot like you; long hair, freakishly tall, big puppy dog eyes, the whole nine yards. He also had a brother named Dean, and happened to drive a black Chevy Impala.”

Sam should’ve let Chuck get obliterated by the archangels when he had the chance. “That’s, uh, that’s crazy.”

Amelia was silent for a moment and Sam had to quickly glance at his phone screen to make sure the call hadn’t been disconnected. “Okay, look. We can do this the easy way and you can start talking, or we can do this the hard way where I call the police and let them know that Sam Winchester isn’t really dead. I read most of the books. They left off when Dean and the angel Castiel – which, by the way, isn’t the guy your brother is in love with named Cas? – went to Purgatory. I did some digging and found a lot of freaky things that fit the books.” She paused, presumably to take a long sip of her whiskey. “I trusted you, Sam. For some reason, I still trust you. I just don’t want to be lied to anymore.”

Appetite gone, Sam closed the lid on the Styrofoam container and flopped backward into the sand. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed heavily. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me. Let’s start with an easy one. Are the books about you and your brother?”

Now or never. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and let out a shaky, “Yes.”

There was more silence as Amelia digested this information. “Are the stories true? Or based on truth?”

“Yes.”

“Which?”

“True,” Sam sighed, letting his arm fall back above his head. “They’re all true. If Chuck, wherever the fuck he is, continues writing, you’ll be in them as well.”

“Chuck?”

“Sorry. Carver Edlund. His real name is Chuck Shurley; he’s a prophet of the Lord. Ames, I know this sounds insane and you probably think I’m crazy but-“

“You didn’t want me to get hurt,” Amelia’s tone softened a little, losing the bitter edge. “I read the books; I know what happens to people who get involved.” He could hear the soft whispers of fabric against the speaker as she adjusted her phone. “Honestly though? I believe in ghosts. I always have. So when I was reading through these books, a lot of things started to make sense. At first I didn’t believe the whole angels and demons thing – ghosts are a lot easier to swallow for some reason – but everything in the books lined up to old news stories.”

“You’ve done your research,” Sam commented warily.

Amelia excused herself as she coughed into the speaker. “Well, yeah, wouldn’t you? This stuff is crazy, Sam, and I really don’t know why I believe it – and you – but I do. I just had to hear it from you.”

Voices from the shoreline caught Sam’s attention and he sat up, squinting in the setting sun. Dean and Cas had changed into swim trunks and were calf-deep in the waves, Kim and the younger girls moving down the beach to meet them. Catching his brother’s eye, Sam nodded briefly and gestured for him to stay away. No need to set his brother off by telling him he was confessing the truth to Amelia.

“The books don’t really paint me in the best light at first,” Sam sighed, resigned to the conversation. “But they’re my mistakes, and I’d like to think I’ve learned from them.”

“You did seem kind of whiny,” Amelia said with a laugh. “But I’m glad you didn’t turn out to be the ‘Boy King of Hell’ or whatever the fuck. Or a mass murderer.”

Sam hesitated, wondering if she was really taking this so well or if she was just in shock and would freak out later.

“I’m glad too,” he agreed. “But it’s all true. I’m a hunter, my mom died in a fire set by Azazel when I was a baby, and Dean pretty much raised me while Dad taught us to be hunters. Cas is Castiel, the angel who defied Heaven to help us save the world. He’s fallen now, mortal. We’re on a case that started in Springfield, but we came up to Maine today after the witch killed someone else.”

“So you’re not living in Kansas?”

“We are,” Sam confirmed. “We live in what Dean calls a Batcave. It’s an underground bunker that belonged to an organization of hunters that our grandfather belonged to.”

“That’s… pretty badass, actually.”

Sam laughed. “It kind of is,” he said. “Look, I know all this is hard to take in, but I promise the first thing I do when we finish this case is come explain everything to you. You can even come to the bunker if you want, meet Dean and Cas, see everything for yourself. I’ll text you Charlie’s number in the meantime and she can give you whatever proof you want.” He’d have to explain that she’d have to go through a series of tests before going anywhere near the bunker, but he’d save that for a different conversation.

“I’d like that,” Amelia said, apparently satisfied for now. “I’m not saying I’m one-hundred percent on board or anything, but I’d like to give it a shot if you want to.”

“I do. I want you in my life, Amelia. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

He let his gaze drift back to the water as he waited for Amelia to digest his response. Kim had let Faith and the German Shepherds out and Dean and Cas tossed Frisbees to the pack. The black shepherd shrieked her joy as she managed to snatch the toy ahead of Faith and barreled into Cas’ bare shins with it, knocking the angel off his feet and into the shallows.

Dean threw his head back and laughed, but his mirth was quickly cut short as Cas wrapped a hand around his ankle and yanked Dean right down with him. Collapsing on top of Cas, Dean was nose to nose with him, both men frozen as they stared at each other.

“Sorry, I’m watching every romantic trope in the book happen out here,” Sam commented to Amelia as he sat upright. Sand stuck to his back and uncomfortably above the waistband of his shorts; he’d have to head back inside soon if he wanted the hot water.

“Your brother and Cas finally stop with the eye-fucking?”

The moment was broken by Kim’s wolf-whistling. Dean hauled himself to his feet and shakily offered a hand to Cas, neither making eye contact.

Laughing, Sam stood. “That’s in the book then, too, huh? Nah, they’re working things out, but hopefully they won’t work things out in the bed next to mine.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed. Will you send me Charlie’s contact info when you get a second? I have a lot of questions, but I’m a little drained, if you get me.”

“No, I understand.”

A movement caught Sam’s eye and he paused, looking back over his shoulder. Beth was walking back to the motel’s deck area, sand covering the back of her shirt. He hadn’t remembered seeing her come out with Tracie and Melanie, but he vaguely remembered seeing someone leaning against the tall wooden post in the shade when he started his conversation with Amelia. Maybe Beth had decided to eat by the beach as well.

Amelia’s voice brought him back to the present. “- keep me posted, okay? I’m going to worry about you until you’re back in Kansas.”

Sam smiled and leaned against the back slider of the motel room. “I promise. And you let me know if you see anything suspicious. Charlie will get you a secure email.” He pushed his hair out of his eyes and let out a long sigh. “I’m really happy you read Chuck’s shitty books. I mean, I’m not happy you had to find out this way and had to suffer through his writing, but I guess I’m happy it gave me a way to tell you the truth about all this crap.”

“I’d have gotten it out of you eventually,” Amelia teased.

“I don’t doubt it, but this way works.” Warmth spread through him at her tone. He knew he’d have a lot more explaining to do, more lore to go over, and she wouldn’t like all of it. But this? This was a start. “Thanks for keeping an open mind, Amelia. Please be safe.”

“You too, Sam. Call me tomorrow night whenever you can.”

Sam agreed, and, wishing her a good night, entered the motel room and flopped backward onto the bed with a groan.

That could have gone so much worse. Trembling slightly with leftover adrenaline, Sam allowed himself a wide smile and pumped his fist in the air in a silent victory cheer.


	8. I'll Follow You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel have an important conversation. The witch makes a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: some BDSM relationship negotiation, bed sharing, discussion of past torture and trauma, excessive fluff
> 
> Chapter song: "I'll Follow You" - Shinedown
> 
> Two chapters and an epilogue to go! There will be a few timestamps in this series and possibly a sequel after I finish the Big Bangs that I'm working on.   
> -@feathers-and-cigarettes

Part 8

Dean beat a hasty retreat back to the shoreline after helping Cas up out of the shallows. His body had responded all too enthusiastically to the feel of the angel’s bare torso against his, the cool water lapping over their tangled legs. Subtly adjusting himself in his swim trunks – because wet fabric would hide nothing if his dick decided to get any more excited – he parked himself down into the sand next to a smirking Kim.

“Not a fucking word.”

Kim raised her hands in mock surrender. “As long as you keep it in your pants until you get back to your room, you won’t hear from me.” She threw the tennis ball Squall dropped in her lap and watched the big dog bound down the beach after it. “Was good to see you boys having a good time tonight.”

Cas’ muscles stood out in stark relief on his bare torso as he tugged the frisbee Faith had clenched in her jaws and Dean resolutely looked away before he started drooling or something equally embarrassing. The spontaneous decision to swing by Target and buy swimming trunks on the way up to Maine was definitely a double edged sword.

“Yeah, well, you got him hooked with that mutt of yours,” he replied, turning instead to watch as the girls shoved each other into the waves. “And he’s never had lobster before, which is a fucking crime if you ask me, so we couldn’t miss this.”

Kim snorted and rolled her eyes, making a face that would make even Sammy proud. “Go talk to him,” she said, giving Dean a shove. “We’ve got a busy schedule starting tomorrow and if you two are planning on helping out, you need to work it out.”

“We’re not gonna leave you hanging,” Dean replied. “I’m just… not great at this whole feelings crap, I guess.”

“Neither is your boyfriend. Together you might make one functioning adult,” Kim said, giving Dean a wink and a smile to take the sting out of her words.

“You’re hilarious,” Dean grumbled, wincing a bit as he rose to his feet and stretched the kinks out of his back.

Sam must’ve gone back to the motel room. There was a Sasquatch-sized indent in the sand where his brother had been laying, and Dean decided it was private enough. Catching Cas’ eye, Dean gestured for him to follow.

“Dean?” Cas’ brow furrowed in confusion as he cast a suspicious glance around. “Is everything all right? Where’s Sam? Is there another hex bag?”

Dean held up a hand. “Easy with the twenty questions, man; everything’s okay.” He sat down, scratching at his swim trunks and digging his toes into the sand. “Sit down and talk to me for a few.”

Warily, Cas complied. He was already half covered in sand from playing with the dogs, but it didn’t seem to bother him like it did Dean. Sex on the beach didn’t seem nearly as appealing with all the sand he could feel in uncomfortable places from just sitting in shorts.

“How’ve you been holding up, Cas?” Dean asked, watching as Cas attempted to look anywhere but at Dean. It felt weird to have the upper hand for once. “Has the running with Sam been helping at least?”

“It’s an acceptable outlet,” Cas ventured, drawing random patterns in the sand with a broken reed. “Sam has been good company.”

“Careful, he might have you doing yoga.” Dean knew firsthand just how flexible Cas was and boy was that a path his brain needed to avoid going down.

Cas hummed in agreement. “I wouldn’t be opposed. My prayers for clear thought lately have been… lacking. I enjoy the exercise, but sleeping has not come easy.”

Closer now to Cas than Dean had been all week, the dark circles under his eyes were readily apparent, and the normally bright blue irises were dull with exhaustion. He looked like he hadn’t slept in months, rather than days. Dean knew the feeling all too well – the images of Hell and Purgatory burned in his mind on a semi-regular basis. Good old Hunter’s Helper was his go-to for forcing his body into blissful unconsciousness, but he and Sam had kept the hard liquor and heavier medication from Cas based on Dean’s experience with Zachariah’s version of the fallen angel.

“The nightmares are getting worse?” Dean asked quietly. Had he just not noticed how bad they were at the bunker? A stab of pain shot through his chest at the thought of Cas in his room, suffering alone in blind terror.

Cas stabbed the reed into the sand and leaned backward on his elbows, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I don’t know if they’re getting worse or if I’m just noticing them more now that I haven’t been under sloth’s influence.” He paused, giving Dean a sideways glance. “I haven’t noticed your nightmares occurring recently?”

“Nah, I’m just good at repression,” Dean said with a hollow laugh. “They never really go away completely. If we’re lucky, they just get less frequent.”

Cas’ face twisted in pain and he reached over to brush his fingertips across Dean’s cheek. “I wish I could keep them at bay for you, like I used to.” He froze as he touched the fading bruise, long fingers starting to shake. “Dean, I’m – “

Without thinking, Dean grabbed Cas’ hand with his own and pressed the angel’s palm over the bruise. “I’m okay, Cas. I ain’t gonna break.”

Christ, if Sam were anywhere nearby, he’d have blackmail material for the next decade.

But in reality? Dean was sick of it. He was sick of hiding what he wanted from his brother, from Cas… from himself. He was sick of worrying about what would happen if he allowed himself to simply have those feelings he had for years. He was sick of waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Cas to leave him – again.

“I can’t hurt you again,” Cas said hoarsely, tugging his hand out of Dean’s with such a grieved expression that Dean’s heart hurt. “Dean, every time I think I’m doing the right thing, every time I think I’m helping you, I make things worse. I thought I was using my power to help and to save you and Sam when I made the deal with Crowley, when I took the Purgatory souls, even when Naomi pulled me out of Purgatory. I should have known better, in all those instances.”

“You should have just talked to us,” Dean interjected. “We stopped the fucking apocalypse when we worked together. We could have come up with something to beat Raphael or Naomi. You just gotta trust us, man.”

Cas dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I never stopped trusting you, Dean. You and Sam, you’ve done so much for me. You’ve accepted me when my family turned their backs. I just… I don’t want to be a burden. I’m a warrior and a commander. I should be able to fight my own battles or die trying.”

A strangled noise escaped Dean’s throat as the images of the times he’d seen Cas die flashed through his mind. The angel exploding in a spray of gore or drowning in the reservoir were prominent scenes in his nightmares mixed among Alastair’s torture or Sam’s death.

“That… that ain’t gonna happen. You, me, and Sam, we’re gonna find your Grace and we’re gonna get through this. Together. Then we’re gonna find Abbadon and Metatron and kick their asses.”

“What if it’s not safe for me to be around you?” Cas countered. “We know what’s happening now, but if I lose control again – “ he swallowed heavily before continuing, “Dean, I could not live with myself if I harmed you. Every time I close my eyes, I see you - a thousand copies of you – maimed, slaughtered by my own hand.”

Dean felt a chill run up his spine. “Your nightmares.”

Cas nodded. “A majority of them. My memory is hazy in some places thanks to Naomi’s meddling, so I’m not sure if the nightmares are a product of my own imagination or if they were the actual events.”

“Dude, you never killed me. I don’t know what fucked up things Naomi brainwashed you with, but you stopped and healed me in Lucifer’s Crypt.”

“No, I,” Cas’ breath hitched and Dean pressed his hand between his shoulder blades, right between the wings that Dean wasn’t sure even existed anymore. “Yes, Naomi did something to my mind, but all of it was real. She was conditioning me to kill you, Dean. She created a thousand copies of you and made me kill all of them until I could do so without hesitating. I didn’t know what was real and what was her creation.”

Dean knew it had been a close call in the Crypt, but he hadn’t realised just how deep it had gone. He swallowed heavily, his fingers pausing in their light scratching of Cas’ back. “So you thought it was one of Naomi’s scenarios. That it wasn’t real.”

Cas was quiet for a minute, and when he spoke again, his voice was low with shame. “Part of me didn’t care if it was real or not. Naomi was Michael’s top interrogator, she was extremely effective at getting information. She was in charge of reprogramming angels who questioned any of our superiors’ orders. When we sought Revelation, she was the one who picked what information to give us. She knew how we all worked, how to most effectively break each and every one of us. She started out with making me believe it was mercy killings and then I just became… numb. My baser instincts took over and I didn’t care that it was your eyes I watching the life go out of.”

That explained the almost robotic personality Cas had adopted shortly before the discovery of the Crypt and during the recovery of the Tablet. Dean hesitantly resumed his soft scratching, trying to encourage Cas to continue. “You stopped. You didn’t kill me when it mattered. Naomi didn’t break you, Cas.” She almost broke Dean, but that was neither here nor there.

“It was close. Had I been under her control for any longer, had you not –“ Cas stopped, dropping his head. His jaw clenched, the muscles under Dean’s fingers tensing.

“What? What did I do?” Dean tried to remember the specifics of the event, but most of what he remembered clearly was pain. Getting hit repeatedly in the face with the celestial equivalent of a sledgehammer wasn’t something that was easily forgotten, nor was Cas’ cold, ruthless expression. Seeing Cas like that was worse than any physical injury he had inflicted.

“You said you needed me.” Cas sounded almost embarrassed, his voice barely above a whisper as he pointedly looked away from Dean. “In all of Naomi’s scenarios, you never once told me that. You yelled at me and begged me, cursed me and flirted with me, but never told me what I meant to you.”

And really, that was the elephant in the room, wasn’t it? The root of Dean’s insecurities and fears. He couldn’t remember his exact words as he begged Cas to stop, but he did remember not caring if it cost him his life. Sam’s safety had been a priority, as it always was, but Dean had been convinced he was going to die. The last thing he wanted to see was his best friend, not the cold shell he had become.

“Cas, you,” Dean’s breath hitched and he swallowed heavily. Looking too closely at his own emotions never ended well, but he owed it to Cas to be open with him. “I always need you, Cas. Mojo or no mojo. You’ve had our backs for so long; whenever I turn around, you’re always there. It’s always been you, Cas. It’s always going to be you.”

“Dean.”

“No, lemme get this out or I won’t. You know what scares me the most? You leaving.” Dean’s hand had slid over to Cas’ shoulder, mimicking the hand print that was still scarred into the flesh of his own arm. “It scares the hell out of me, right up there with Sammy dying. It’s fucking selfish of me, but I want you here, with me, with whatever the fuck we have between us.” Tears stung at his eyes and he blinked rapidly, his free hand coming up to wipe irritably at his face. “I’m more afraid of that than you turning feral. So please, Cas. Just stay. We’ll figure this out together.”

No sooner had the words left Dean’s mouth than he found himself with an armful of shirtless angel. Cas’ arms wrapped around his neck and Dean clutched at his back with one hand and braced himself with the other before they went sprawling backwards. Cas buried his face in the crook of Dean’s shoulder, and loosened his awkward hug at Dean’s rather pathetic squeak of protest.

“I don’t know what these feelings are,” Cas said, his voice muffled by Dean’s shoulder. “They’re just so _much_ and I don’t know how to cope with them.”

“Hey, human for thirty-five years here. I don’t know how to deal with feelings that well either, but we make do.”

Cas snorted against Dean’s skin.

“Okay, fine, we adopt unhealthy coping mechanisms and stumble our way through.” Fucking Sam and his Dr. Phil. Dean shifted to hold Cas more comfortably against his chest. He rested his cheek against Cas’ hair, breathing in the ocean scent as the salt water dried.

“I want to cope though. I don’t want to leave, Dean; I want to figure this out with you.” Cas drew back, eyes flickering to the bruise on Dean’s jaw. “Until now, I’ve never been afraid of anything in my existence. Even facing Michael and Lucifer, I was not afraid. These feelings terrify me, but I’d burn Heaven to the ground if it meant keeping you safe.”

Dean felt his cheeks redden. “Shit, Cas.”

Grandiose gestures seemed to be an angel thing. Dean wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to hearing things like that and know that it was meant literally.

“It’s the truth. I want my Grace back; I want to feel like myself again, but I never wanted to leave. If you and Sam will have me, I’d like to stay, no matter what happens with Heaven.” Cas’ gaze was back on Dean, looking more steady than Dean had seen in a week.

The setting sun threw shadows against Cas’ skin, making him appear sculpted out of bronze in the evening light. Dean couldn’t remember seeing anything more stunning. Cas’ words elated him, chasing away a bit of his self-doubt and before he was even aware of what he was doing, Dean reached out and pulled Cas in close. He poured all the emotions he didn’t dare name into the kiss, his hands cradling Cas’ face gently.

Cas let out a startled gasp, his lips unmoving against Dean’s for a few agonizingly long seconds. Finally, his hand came up to rest on Dean’s shoulder, slotting neatly into his hand print scar, and he returned the kiss with equal fervor.

Cas tasted like sea spray, and Dean groaned in the back of his throat as he reluctantly pulled back. He rested his forehead against Cas’, lips quirking upward as Cas attempted to chase after him.

Letting his arms wrap loosely around Cas’ neck, he met the slightly dazed looking blue eyes. “I want you here, with me, for as long as we’re around, if that wasn’t clear.”

“You could kiss me again. That might make it more clear.”

Dean laughed and placed a quick kiss on Cas’ lips. “One thing at a time, Romeo.”

Cas’ answering pout was pitiful and Dean couldn’t help but laugh harder.

“As much as I really don’t want to admit Sam was right on _anything_ , especially not something involving my sex life, he did have a point. We need to set some ground rules.”

“Rules?” Cas’ nose wrinkled as he frowned in thought. “Like in your pornography videos?”

The feathery asshole _had_ gone through his PornHub history. Dean was absolutely changing all his passwords on his laptop the second he got a chance…

Or, maybe a bit of narrative would be better – a chance to explain the finer details of some of his favourites and maybe some hands on learning…

Dean cleared his throat, derailing his train of thought before he got too deep into the fantasy.

“Kind of,” he replied, his expression softening at Cas’ head tilt. “They’ll be rules for safety, to make sure we’re not pushing each other too far and to keep you grounded. Lust and Wrath seem to take over more quickly than the other sins, so I was thinking if we channeled those, they may not take over as easily.”

Cas sat back, the frown still present on his face. Dean could practically see the gears whirring in his head as he processed the idea.

“I like the idea of rules. We’re conditioned to respond better to rules and structure, so that has some merit. Tempting Wrath may not be the best of plans; I will _not_ hurt you again, Dean. I meant that.”

“I know, I know, but, uh.” Dean flushed and looked down. “Sometimes a little pain feels good, y’know? Like in the men’s room at the bar in Springfield – that hurt, but it also felt really, _really_ good. Stuff like that, rough handling, hell, you can tie me up if you want to.”

Dean didn’t miss the way Cas’ eyes darkened at the mention of bondage. Angels apparently did have kinks after all.

“How would you be safe if I did those things? What if I lose control?” Cas asked hesitantly after a moment’s thought.

“That’s where the rules come in. We’ll set up a system – words or touches in case one of us can’t speak. Colours are pretty common. Green is good to go, yellow for slow down, red for stopping and talking. We’ll have a safeword that either of us can use at any time to stop everything instantly.” The colour system had worked for Dean before, with Lisa and a few others, and it was easy enough to implement.

Cas nodded. “Simple enough. I assume we would be checking in as to each other’s colour sporadically?”

“Yeah, that’s the idea. You can call out a colour if you need to without being asked, same with the safeword. The big part of it is trust.” Dean reached out to grab Cas’ hand, lacing their fingers together. “We’ve gotta trust each other for this to work. You’ve gotta slow down if I tell you and you’ve gotta keep your head on enough to let me know if you need a break or to stop.”

“And you? You’ll be looking out for me, but what about you?”

Dean rubbed his thumb over the back of Cas’ hand. “I’ve gotta trust you enough to let go, to let you take care of me.” He scratched at his chin, feeling the overgrown stubble rasp against his fingers. “I’m really not any good at that, but the times I’ve done it, just slipped into that headspace… there’s nothing else like it. I trust you to catch me, Cas.”

Cas practically beamed at the words, shoulders and chest puffing a bit with pride. Dean was sure those invisible wings would be lifting a bit higher as well.

“I trust you, Dean,” Cas said, his voice grave with emotion. He reached out with his right hand, still keeping their fingers laced together in his left, and gently touched the bruise on Dean’s jaw. “I promise you this will never happen again.”

“I know it won’t.” Dean leaned into the touch for emphasis, showing Cas he wasn’t afraid. “I’m sorry I’ve been a dick lately. I’ve been worried about Sam’s health, worried about you, working through my own shit… I shouldn’t have been taking it out on you.”

Cas’ hand slid into Dean’s hair and gripped tightly after a moment’s hesitation. To contrast the firm handling, Cas’ eyes were soft as he looked into Dean’s. “I apologize as well. For running away from you and Sam and for not coming for help when I needed it.” He paused, watching as Dean processed his words against the hand in his hair. “What’s your colour, Dean?”

A thrill shot through Dean at the question, heart beating faster. Flicking his tongue out to wet his lips, he met Cas’ gaze and nodded with a smile. “Green.”

A broad grin stretched over Cas’ face as he closed the distance between them. He demanded more this time, with a quick flash of teeth against Dean’s bottom lip and a sweep of his tongue.

Dean tried to control the desperate little whine that escaped him as he let Cas take the lead. Had it really only been a few days since he was able to have this? Sam was probably going to skin both of them alive, but Dean didn’t care. All that he cared about was currently wreaking havoc on his libido and doing devilish things with his tongue and teeth. He wanted _more_ : more tugging on his hair, more biting, more tongue, more of everything. Snaking an arm around Cas’ waist, Dean pulled him on top and laid back in the sand.

Cas resisted with a sharp nip and a rumble of displeasure. He poised himself over Dean, arms bracketing his head. Breaking the kiss, Cas shifted to straddle Dean’s hips and raised an eyebrow. “You’re getting pushy,” he growled, leaning down to nuzzle Dean’s throat. “What rules do we have about you getting pushy?”

Dean grinned and wiggled his hips. “I can be a shit. You can decide how to take it, but you can stop me if you need me to.” He yelped as Cas bit him again. “No pulling that dominance routine outside of sex though. Outside the bedroom stays outside.”

“And if I don’t want to just have you in the bedroom…?”

“Don’t be a dick. You know what I mean.”

Cas pulled away, eyes dark with lust and some other emotion Dean didn’t want to look too deeply into. They’d had enough of a chick flick scene for a long time. “Green,” he said quietly, brushing his lips softly over Dean’s bruise.

They lay like that for several more minutes, trading gentle kisses in contrast with their usual rougher handling of each other as the sun set. Dean was vaguely aware of Kim and the girls packing up and sending catcalls in their general direction but couldn’t bring himself to care. Cas was warm and solid and – most importantly – sane in his arms and he wasn’t about to let anything ruin the moment.

“So I guess that solves the sleeping arrangements for tonight, but I swear on Mom’s grave, if you two try _anything_ even remotely freaky in the bed next to me, I’m having Charlie change all the wifi passwords in the bunker as soon as we get home.”

Anything except annoying little brothers, apparently.

“We were having a discussion,” Cas replied irritably, turning to squint up at Sam.

Dean pressed a hand firmly against the small of Cas’ back, signaling him not to get up. Last thing he needed was to be sporting a semi around his – boyfriend? Partner? Person he was emotionally and sexually invested in? – and his baby brother.

“Yeah, looked like you guys were having a great talk,” Sam snorted. His eyes darted over to Dean’s, wordlessly checking to make sure his brother was all right.

Dean gave him a cheeky grin and flipped him the bird. _Everything is good, please don’t make a big deal_.

“We were speaking an ancient language, obviously, Sammy. Sorry you don’t have as much experience with it as I – _ow_ , Cas, son of a bitch!”

Cas rested his chin on Dean’s chest right below where he’d bitten him on the collarbone. The asshole smiled smugly. “Yellow,” he reminded.

“Yeah, you’re gonna be… yellow. Y’know what, fuck you.”

“Please, no fucking,” Sam groaned.

Shifting his weight under Cas, Dean sat up and grimaced at the feel of the sand clinging to his back. Yeah, definitely no sex on the beach. Ever. He took Cas’ hand and stood, taking a moment to enviously eyeball the angel’s crotch and adjust his own shorts. It was really unfair Cas had retained the ability to instantly get rid of an inconvenient boner, unless that really had been an angel blade poking into Dean’s hip.

“We were on our way back in, we just got sidetracked,” Dean grumbled, brushing as much sand off as he could.

“By each others’ tongues, yeah. I saw.”

Cas made a quick noise of surprise and jogged across the beach. Dean let his gaze linger on the retreating form, curious as to what he had seen.

Sam whirled on his brother, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “Dude. Didn’t we _just_ talk about not giving him any reason to lose it? What the fuck was that?”

Dean punched him back. “We were talking – shut up, we actually were – just like you told me to! Enough talking about our feelings to fuel a goddamn Nicholas Sparks movie.”

Sam opened his mouth and Dean punched him again. “Shut. Up.”

“Did I miss something?” Cas asked, tilting his head as he slowed to a stop next to the brothers.

Dean cleared his throat and Sam rolled his eyes.

“No, man, you’re good. Was just congratulating Dean on your two pulling your heads out of your asses,” Sam replied, rubbing his shoulder.

“I see. Thank you, Sam. Your approval means a great deal to me, and I know it does to Dean as well.” Cas held up a beaten and torn burlap tug toy. “Faith must have forgotten to carry this back to the van. It’s her favourite.”

“I think they’ve headed to bed; I heard them all come back to the motel,” Sam commented as they headed back toward the wooden pathway. “Everyone has pretty early ring times tomorrow. You can give it to her in the morning, Cas. We still running before the show or do you think you’ll be all right?” He shot a Look at Dean, who deliberately ignored it.

“I think I’d like to skip it tomorrow,” Cas replied, glancing questioningly over at Dean.

It would be the first morning since The Incident that Cas didn’t accompany Sam on his jog. Dean was hesitant to change up what seemed to be working for one of the main vices, but he needed to trust in Cas’ own judgement.

He let his fingers skim across Cas’ lower back as they walked. “Up to you, man. We’ll be up early to head down to Scarborough and get set up. If you can get some sleep it might be better.”

They arrived back at the motel in companionable silence. Dean was grateful to his brother for dropping the subject of Cas, but he knew the interrogation would come later. Hopefully after the witch was in the ground.

Sam murmured a quiet good night and a vague warning about keeping it their pants before ambling over to the far bed and flopping down on top of the thin sheets.

Dean mocked him under his breath and glanced hopefully at Cas as the angel grabbed a towel off the sink. A raised eyebrow was all he received in return as Cas retreated into the bathroom and shut the door with a pointed click of the lock.

Rejected and denied immediate relief from the sand itching under his waistband, Dean sighed and leaned against the sink to wait his turn. Picking up Faith’s discarded tug toy from where Cas had tossed it on the counter, Dean moved to tuck it into a duffel bag next to the door so it wouldn’t be forgotten in the usual morning chaos.

A hint of purple caught his attention as it peeked out from one of the bigger holes in the outer burlap of the toy. Frowning, Dean pulled out some of the packed stuffing, the hair on the back of his neck raising as more of the purple fabric was revealed. When he got to the twine wrapped around the fabric and the top of a symbol written in black marker, he immediately doubled back to the sink and threw the toy in.

“Son of a bitch, _Sam! Cas!_ Get in here!”

He pawed through his jeans, swearing as he frantically tried to find his lighter. “Goddammit! _Now_ , Sam!” The hex bag could be meant for any one of them and Dean didn’t intend to find out whom.

His fingers finally curled around the metal of the lighter and he swore until it finally lit. Sam stood in the small hallway, blinking owlishly as Dean held the flame to the burlap and let the lighter drop in the sink.

“What the hell, Dean?”

The door to the bathroom opened and Cas stood in the frame, steam billowing out around his body. “Are we under attack?” he asked gravely, water dripping from his hair and nude body to pool as his feet.

Dean slumped back against the wall, trying to get his heart rate back to a semi-normal pace, and pointed to the flaming tug toy in the sink. “Hex bag. You’re welcome, assholes.”

Sam hauled the slider door open and quickly unplugged the smoke detector. “A hex bag? Where was it? I checked the room before I got you two; I wasn’t gone that long and none of the lines are disturbed.”

Cas had turned the water off in the shower and, much to Dean’s chagrin, wrapped a towel round his waist. He turned the water on in the sink, dousing the flames. “Faith’s toy?” he asked, waving a hand to clear the smoke and squinting at the smoldering remains.

“Yeah. Was inside one of the ripped sections down deep in the stuffing.” Dean rubbed at his jaw wearily, exhaustion finally creeping in. There would be no rest for any of them now that the witch was onto them. “Gotta have been Kim, right? She must’ve left that there for one of us to pick up.”

Frowning, Cas poked at the burlap and gingerly pulled the scraps apart. “It doesn’t make sense for it to have been Kim. She’s competitive, but she’s told me she’s been thinking about skipping Westminster next year to focus on her breeding program. She’s had plenty of opportunities to kill me last week, so why wait until we’re all together? Surely it would make more sense to take one of us out when we’re alone?”

Sam joined Cas at the sink. “Where did you find the toy, Cas?”

“At the start of the line of posts up by the trees.”

“Were you guys up that way at all? I only saw where you two ended up but thought you were mostly down on the shoreline when I was out there.”

“Not really,” Dean said. “The kids had their towels near there but not that far up.”

“Beth was there,” Sam said abruptly. He turned to look at Dean, eyes narrowing as he thought. “I was on the phone with Amelia and remember seeing her leaving that spot when I was going back inside. She had that lighter sand on her back from leaning against the post. She was going back to her room.”

“She was watching us?” Dean thought back to his previous encounters with Beth, but the woman had always been quiet. Maybe she had been aware they were hunters and tried not to draw attention to herself?

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know, I only saw her go back inside.”

“Perhaps we weren’t the intended targets,” Cas mused. He held a blackened scrap of cloth up to the light and muttered something in Enochian. “The symbol’s too ruined to read.” He tossed it back into the sink and turned, leaning a hip on the basin. “If Faith had seen that toy, she’d have carried it back to Kim’s room, and I’m sure Kim would not have left it on the beach if she’d seen it. What if she’s the next target?”

“Beth did turn into a bitch every time she’s been around Kim, like back at the bar in Springfield,” Dean agreed.

Melanie had also voiced her frustration that Beth rarely allowed her to hang out with Abbie recently while at The Clambake. The girls had evidently previously been close, but Beth seemed to find menial tasks for Melanie and her sister to do every time they were invited to go with Kim’s crew.

“Would she really have gone after Kim with the kids around? None of the previous murders had anything to do with juniors’ classes, just the main competition. Linda Bynes was the only ones that had assistants around but none of them were kids.”

Sam shook his head. “They’re all over in Beth’s room right now watching a movie. I heard them go in after they came back up from the beach. Kim’s the only one in her room right now.”

Cas frowned and shouldered his way past Sam. “I’ll go check on her and try to put up some warding, if I can.”

He pulled a pair of boxers and black sweat pants out of his duffel bag and hauled them on, oblivious to Sam’s yelp of protest. Dean was only able to ogle him for a second before receiving a kick from his brother.

“I’ll give her one of my charms. I’m not sure how well it’ll work against witch magics, but it’s the best I can come up with.”

As the door banged shut behind Cas, Dean groaned and rubbed his face tiredly. “No rest for the wicked or for the Winchesters. Are we really thinking it’s Beth?”

“It makes sense. She got an important client back from Linda’s death, one she thinks is going to make it pretty far on a national level. From reading everything online, Kim’s dog, Squall, is one of the favourites to win the National Championship this year. If Beth can eliminate Kim, that’s a huge competitor out.” Sam started cleaning the sink out, separating the pieces of the toy and hex bag into plastic bags. He set aside what was semi-salvageable and tossed the rest into the garbage.

“So we’ve gotta draw her out. I don’t like that there are kids involved.”

Sam nodded. “Keeping the girls safe will be a priority. She’s obviously going to know her plan didn’t work when she sees Kim in the morning; do we make her nervous by letting her know we’re hunters or do we wait for her to try to make a second move?”

As uncomfortable as Dean was putting Sam or Cas in the line of fire, he couldn’t take the risk that Beth would go after another civilian. “We get her onto us,” he said definitively. “You drop a couple hints since she’s expecting you to be helping out tomorrow anyway, right? I’ll have Cas watch over Kim and the girls. You and I can put some pressure on her until she makes a move either to run or attack.”

“See if I can get her to retreat back here and we take her out in the motel?”

Wouldn’t be the easiest or smoothest plan, but they’ve had worse and somehow survived. “Yeah, that sounds good. We’ll have to wing it.” Dean stretched and winced as his bad knee gave a painful twinge. “Fill Cas in when he gets back, will you, Sam? I’ve got sand in places I don’t really wanna think about.”

Sam grimaced and waved a hand at his brother. “Shower away, I’ll get the gear prepped for tomorrow.”

Grabbing the last towel off the counter, Dean walked into the bathroom and groped behind the curtain for the faucet. His other hand untied his swim trunks and let them fall into a pile with Cas’ discarded shorts and he kicked them both aside.

The emotional roller coaster of the week was finally taking its toll. Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted to get roaring drunk or sleep for a month. Stepping into the shower, he groaned in pleasure as the hot spray beat down onto his shoulders, soothing the stiff muscles. He leaned against the wall and shut his eyes, hoping to turn his brain off for a few moments.

He could have Cas. Something he never thought he’d have, something he never thought he would deserve to have. Warmth spread through him as the angel’s words echoed in his mind, that Cas cared about him and wanted him in all the same ways that Dean wanted Cas. That the past few months _hadn’t_ been just casual fucking. Never did Dean Winchester think he would get to experience happiness on that level.

Smiling to himself as he lazily soaped his body, Dean allowed himself to indulge in that warmth, at least for the duration of the shower. This relationship with Cas wasn’t going to be easy but he couldn’t live with hiding his feelings for his best friend any longer. It had to be worth the effort.

By the time he got out of the shower and pulled on a pair of clean boxers, the lights had already been turned off. Sam’s bulk was visible under the thin sheet in the bed closest to the door and Cas rose stiffly from the other bed.

“There’s no cot, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor if you want the bed,” Cas whispered, reaching over to grab a pillow. He had stripped back down to those ridiculous orange boxers and Dean felt his heart fill with affection for the awkward angel.

“For the love of God, just share the bed and stop being teenagers,” Sam’s muffled voice came from across the room. “Just keep your hands to yourselves and let me sleep in peace.”

Blushing furiously, Dean glared at the back of his brother’s head.

He and Cas had never once shared a bed; even after their most exhausting rounds of sex, they retreated to their own separate rooms shortly after they’d finished. There was something frighteningly domestic about the thought and Dean both craved it and was terrified of it.

Cas tugged at Dean’s hand, a confused look on his handsome features. “Dean?”

_Idjit_ , came the voice from the back of Dean’s brain. He blinked and went with his instinct. Squeezing Cas’ hand, Dean climbed into the bed and held the sheet aside for Cas to settle in behind him.

Cas’ face lit up and he scrambled gracelessly in beside him. Wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist, he let out a contented sigh as he made himself comfortable. Overgrown stubble rasped against Dean’s skin as Cas nosed into his hair and pressed a soft kiss into the back of his neck.

This was what happiness was, Dean realised. Happiness was being wrapped in the strong arms of his best friend, Cas’ warm breaths puffing against the back of his neck as he slid into sleep. It was Sam’s ever-thunderous snores across the room, his brother unjudging and supportive.

Smiling into the darkness, Dean allowed himself to relax for what seemed like the first time in years and slipped into an easy, dreamless sleep.


	9. Unsteady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel fights to remain in control over his emotions and is put to the ultimate test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: canon-typical violence, references to trauma
> 
> Chapter Song: "Unsteady" - X Ambassadors
> 
> Malinois aren't nicknamed Maligators for no reason. Special thanks to Li-Izumi for helping me with this chapter, it was not an easy one!

Part 9

Castiel drifted in and out of sleep. There was a warm, comforting weight on his chest and the steady beat of a heart against his own. Never in his very long existence had he felt this relaxed.

He pressed his nose into the top of Dean’s hair and sighed contentedly, the man’s familiar scent surrounding his senses. Running his fingers along Dean’s back, Castiel reacquainted himself with the body he had stitched back together from Hell and wished he could see the magnificent soul one more time. He could exist without his strength, his speed, but seeing Dean’s soul? The loss hit him as hard as the loss of his wings did.

“What are you waiting for, brother?”

Castiel’s blood ran cold at the voice and his eyes snapped open. It couldn’t be her. He had seen her lying dead on the floor in Heaven’s main citadel, wings ashen and Grace leaking from holes in each of her four heads.

“Complete the mission. I’ve allowed your dalliances long enough,” Naomi stated flatly, the blue eyes of her vessel meeting Castiel’s with disdain.

“You can’t be here,” Castiel snarled. “You’re dead. Metatron killed you before he cast us all out of Heaven.”

Naomi smiled, her expression pitying as one would look at a particularly dull-witted animal. “You have your wires crossed again, Castiel,” she said with a sigh. “Get rid of that thing and come with me. You’ll feel more like yourself in no time.”

In his arms, Dean stirred. “Cas? What’s wrong? Where’s Sam?”

Cold rage bubbled in Castiel’s chest, clawing its way to the surface. All he could see was Naomi, his vision blackened at the edges as he surged upright. If a war machine was what Naomi wanted, then that’s what she would get. Dean must be kept safe at any cost.

“Finish your task, Commander,” Naomi ordered.

Shoving Dean aside and off the bed, Castiel snatched his blade from the bedside table and launched himself at Naomi with a roar of pure fury. He plunged the sword into her chest again and again, blood coating his bare torso and face like war paint. Vaguely, he could feel her struggle against him but his rage would not be satisfied until she was gone, unable to torment him any longer.

With a choked sob, Castiel stabbed down once more, his chest heaving with exertion. The edge around his vision faded slowly and he blinked in confusion at the bare and obviously male chest that lay in bloody ribbons in his grasp. Dull green eyes stared lifelessly up at him and nausea hit Castiel like a truck.

“No,” he whispered, his blade falling from numb fingers. “Dean, what have I done?”

“Good work, Castiel,” Naomi’s voice came from behind him, as if from a great distance.

Crying like a wounded animal, Castiel pressed his palms flat against Dean’s blood-spattered forehead and tried to send what little, if any, Grace he had left into the other man.

“Castiel. Enough.”

“No!” Castiel cried, tears prickling at his eyes as he tried again and again in vain to heal.

“Castiel.”

Would this never end? Would Naomi send him after Sam next? After more of his siblings? Would Castiel ever be able to end the violence his existence seemed to revolve around?

“ _Cas!_ ”

Castiel awoke with a gasp. He was covered in sweat and the pounding of his heart in his chest made him feel dizzy. Fighting down the nausea, he blinked rapidly and tensed himself in preparation to buck the intruder pinning his arms down off.

“Cas, buddy, it’s me, it’s Dean! You’re okay; you’re in Maine at the motel. Whatever you saw, man, it’s not real.”

A living, breathing Dean sat astride his hips, clearly struggling to keep Castiel’s arms pinned to the bed. Concerned green eyes peered down into his own. Dean was clearly frightened, but he was keeping himself under control admirably.

“Cas?”

Castiel licked his lips and swallowed heavily, ceasing his struggles. “Red,” he whispered hoarsely. Calling red would stop everything and he needed desperately to know this was the real Dean, not one of Naomi’s tricks.

Immediately, the pressure on his arms was released and Dean scrambled off him. Holding up both hands in a pacifying gesture, Dean nodded. “I hear you, Cas. Red it is. What do you need?”

Sitting upright, Castiel leaned back against the headboard. The adrenaline was gradually fading from his system, leaving his hands trembling. “Nightmare,” he rasped, twisting the covers in his fists. “Water please?”

“Sure, Cas, no problem,” Dean replied, shifting off the bed to the bathroom.

Castiel shut his eyes, dropping the covers to run his hands through his sweaty hair. This was not the behaviour of a warrior; not even the greenest fledgling would let figments of their imagination control their actions. He drew in several deep breaths, focusing on bringing his heart rate back to normal and lowering his blood pressure.

A cup of water appeared under his nose when he opened his eyes again. Dean stood awkwardly next to the bed in his boxer briefs, shifting from foot to foot and glancing over his shoulder at the door. Sam was nowhere to be seen, presumably out on his morning run judging by the time.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said, finishing the last of the water in slow sips. His hands no longer shook as badly as they had, sparing what little dignity Castiel had left. He watched Dean warily. The nightmare had felt so real; had he simply fallen into another dream?

Cautiously, Dean reached out and took the empty cup and set it on the table. His hands hovered over Castiel’s and he wordlessly waited for permission.

None of Naomi’s false Deans had asked for permission; they had simply acted, whether out of lust or violence. His upper body sagging against the pillows in relief, Castiel pulled Dean into his arms, holding the other man tightly. He brushed his lips against Dean’s temple with a shuddering sigh.

“Green.”

Dean smiled into Castiel’s neck and shifted until he was tucked under Castiel’s arm against his chest. One leg tangled between Castiel’s and he snaked an arm over the tattooed ribcage. “Green here too, buddy,” Dean murmured, fingers tracing the Enochian letters of the tattoo. “Was it Naomi?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation.

Castiel’s skin crawled hearing the hated name defiling Dean’s tongue. “Yes,” he growled, hugging Dean closer. “She was here in the room. It was as if this was another of her scenarios, another version of you to slaughter.”

Silence, then, “Did you kill me?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, voice low with shame. He let one of his arms fall from around Dean and onto the bedspread and turned his head away, unable to see the look of disgust he knew would be on Dean’s face. “I went after her, but what I thought was Naomi was actually you. It was too late; I couldn’t heal you.”

Dean’s hands cupped Castiel’s cheeks and gently, but firmly, made him turn back. There was no disgust in Dean’s expression and, more importantly, no pity. His eyes were warm with understanding and another emotion Castiel couldn’t identify. Taking Castiel’s hand, Dean brought it up to his chest, pressing it against the strongly beating heart.

“Hate to break it to you, buddy, but you can’t get rid of me that easily,” he joked. “Can you remember this? My heartbeat?”

Castiel nodded, committing the rhythm to memory. Dean’s thumb rubbed against his cheekbone, keeping him grounded in the present and the self-destructive thoughts at bay. “I don’t want to get rid of you.”

“Good,” Dean laughed. “’Cause I ain’t going anywhere.” He leaned down and kissed Castiel softly, lingering for a minute before pulling back. Grinning at the discontented rumble Castiel made, Dean arranged himself comfortably across the broad chest. “I’m not gonna make you go into detail or anything, ‘cause God knows I ain’t ready to talk about my nightmares like that, but Cas, if you need to get it out or whatever, just talk to me. Or hell, talk to Sam. He’d love that.”

“Sam’s a good friend.”

“Yeah, he’s a pretty good listener for someone who was such a bratty kid.”

Smiling, Castiel relaxed back into the pillow. If he could wake up like this every morning, perhaps the nightmares would lessen with time. He tugged Dean up, impatient to kiss him again, to lose himself in everything that was _Dean_ and wash the horrific images from his mind.

“Please tell me you two aren’t naked under there. I’ve seen enough of Dean’s ass to last a lifetime.”

Dean groaned and buried his face in Castiel’s neck. “Fuck you, Sammy. I’ve walked in on you before too.”

Sam kicked the door shut behind him, one hand covering his eyes. He tossed a Dunkin’ Donuts bag in the general direction of Dean and Castiel. “Whatever, still don’t want to lose my breakfast. Get dressed, we’ve gotta be at the showgrounds in an hour. Dibs on shower.”

Flipping his middle finger at Sam’s retreating form, Dean made a grab for the bag of breakfast sandwiches but wasn’t fast enough.

Castiel snatched the bag and sat up, his stomach growling like a living beast. Eating _was_ pleasurable, he had to admit, but the necessity of it and the discomfort of hunger irritated him. He unwrapped one of the sandwiches and, after a brief hesitation, tossed the bag to Dean. Gluttony was like a slow growing disease, one that was able to sink its claws into him subtly. Managing his hunger was crucial.

Taking a big bite of the sandwich, he nodded at Dean and returned the thumbs up gesture. The bacon wasn’t as crispy as he found he preferred, but the eggs and ham were satisfying. He licked the grease off his fingertips and glanced longingly at the remaining quarter of Dean’s sandwich.

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” Dean said through a mouthful of bacon, egg, and biscuit. He stuffed the remains into his mouth like a chipmunk and Castiel rolled his eyes at him. Why he had such strong feelings for this obnoxious human, only his Father knew.

Thirty minutes and only one suspicious glare from Sam later, they were on the back roads to the showgrounds in Scarborough. Dean and Sam bickered good-naturedly in the front seat and Castiel relaxed in the back, grateful that the tensions between the three of them had eased a bit. There was the usual adrenaline rush of an upcoming fight, but that was familiar and something Castiel dealt with well.

“So I’m taking point on the bait, right?” Sam clarified. “Am I getting Beth running scared or trying to get her to attack?”

“Get her good and scared; I don’t want her anywhere near Kim. Cas will be guarding her – I’m talking even escorting her to the bathrooms here, Cas – and if we can get Beth to retreat back to the motel or somewhere else, I’ll grab you and we’ll tail her,” Dean replied. “Ideally we’ll take her out at the motel and dump the body out in the ocean, but we’ll improvise if we have to.”

Sam frowned and looked at his brother. “Dumping the body _Dexter_ -style would leave too much of a trail: where would we rent a boat anyway? Easier to just salt and burn.”

“Dude, if you think I’m gonna let a corpse sit in Baby’s trunk in this heat for hours...”

“Sulfuric acid and dispose of it in the bathtub,” Castiel offered. He remembered scoffing at the flawed science behind a show on Netflix; the type of acid had been incorrect but the method was still valid.

Dean blinked at him in the rearview mirror at the same time that Sam turned a bewildered and slightly disturbed look on him.

“ _Dexter_ ; a television drama about a serial killer, correct? I was offering a suggestion in the same vein, but the hydrofluoric acid used in the television show would not be effective…” Castiel trailed off as the looks grew more concerned. There was no pleasing these humans with pop culture references whether he understood them or not, apparently.

“Okay, no more _Breaking Bad_ for Heisenberg back there.”

Sam shook his head and turned back. “Why don’t we figure it out once we’ve actually got a corpse to dispose of.”

Castiel scowled and subsided. He knew the brothers were deliberately keeping him out of combat and he begrudgingly agreed with the reasoning. It was far safer to stand guard over Kim and the girls than to risk falling prey to Wrath in a life or death situation. Though his pride as a warrior was wounded, the commander in him knew it was the correct choice.

“What if she decides to attack instead of run?” he asked, turning back to the plan at hand.

“There’s a lake on the showgrounds,” Sam answered after studying his phone. He leaned over the back to show Castiel. “Here. The concession stand is close to it but if we can lure her farther back, I think we could potentially take her out there. It’s far enough away from where people will be.”

Peering at the screen, Castiel nodded thoughtfully. The plan had merit, but it rested too much on what Beth would do. Giving the enemy that much power over the situation didn’t sit right. “Guns will be too noticeable if we take her out at the showground,” he mused. “Blades will be easier. An angel blade will work on a witch of any strength, but an amateur like her should be fairly easily taken out.”

Dean shuddered. “Great. Up close and cozy with a witch.”

“We need to have more control over the situation. Pursuing her if she runs is a good backup, but we need to be luring her where we want her,” Castiel continued, kicking the back of Dean’s seat lightly. “Lure her to the lake, eliminate her there. We can get her to think she’s getting one of us alone – I think perhaps Sam would be best? Dean can double back through the other side. I will remain behind and ensure the girls come to no harm.”

Sam and Dean exchanged glances, nodding their approval. At least the plan was to their satisfaction. Castiel hadn’t been Heaven’s chief tactician for no reason and it was relieving to see the normally spontaneous brothers taking his advice for once. A bit of his old pride filled him, even for such a simplistic approach.

Pleased, Castiel relaxed back in the seat and mentally began his pre-battle litanies.

~*~*~*~

Despite an extensive search of the setup, and a few odd looks from Kim, Castiel hadn’t turned up any additional hex bags. He fussed over Kim and the girls, refusing to let any of them out of his or Dean’s sight even for a moment.

Castiel found it soothing to remain vigilant over his new charges. This was something he was experienced with, something he could do with confidence and a clear mind. He was, after all, the “Shield of God,” and he would be damned – possibly literally – if he didn’t live up to his name and purpose.

Kim handed him the force dryer and cleared her throat. “If you’re just going to hang around, be useful. Faith is ready to be dried, so get moving! Dean, you can unload the van while we finish grooming.”

Exchanging a glance with Dean, Castiel sighed and turned his attention to Faith, who stood on the grooming table with her tail wagging furiously. He could watch them while drying, he supposed.

Dean leaned in close to Castiel’s ear as he brushed past him to the van. “I’ll check through everything in the van, but I think we might be in the clear for right now. Beth’s looking pretty occupied.”

Sam had made himself busy around Beth’s setup, conveniently located adjacent to Kim’s. Snippets of conversation drifted over, and Castiel was amused by what he managed to overhear. Playing up the over-confident young hunter, Sam had managed to put himself firmly on Beth’s radar, judging by the way she had suddenly overcome her usual indifference.

Castiel watched them closely, looking for any signs that Beth was anything other than what she claimed to be, but nothing was out of the ordinary.

Beth laughed at something Sam said and rolled her eyes. She wasn’t under as strict of time constraints as Kim was, but the Newfoundlands took significantly longer to prepare for show. Brushing more whitening chalk on the black and white Newfoundland’s legs, she directed Sam back to her van to grab more towels.

“I’m taking a break until lunch! Yell if I need to do any heavy lifting,” Dean called, dropping the last cooler by the tent post and pulling out a beer before dropping into one of the camp chairs.

Shutting the dryer off, Castiel gave Faith one last once over and fed her a small piece of chicken. He unhooked her collar from the grooming arm and walked her over to stand by Dean’s chair.

“So far so good,” Dean murmured, reaching out to awkwardly pet the top of Faith’s head and leaning close to Castiel. He took a sip of his beer, eyes still trained on Sam in the adjacent setup.

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Castiel replied, frowning slightly as Beth bustled past them in search of another brush.

He didn’t trust Beth one bit and he could feel his hackles rise as she seemed to fall for Sam’s bait and awkward charm. Nothing ever came this easy.

“I think it will,” Dean said confidently. “She’s too busy to focus on anything other than the show right now. She needs to win this morning; killing her competition can come later.”

“Cas! You feeling up to taking Faith in?”

Castiel looked up as Kim called from under the tent. She held Ryker’s leash in one hand and Squall’s in the other as Abbie fidgeted behind her with Storm.

“The Beauceron and the Tervuren entries didn’t show, Mals are up in a few minutes,” Kim continued. She tossed a stick of string cheese and Castiel caught it reflexively. “Get down to the ring if you’re up for it otherwise you’re holding for me in shepherds.”

Uneasily, Castiel glanced down at Dean. He wouldn’t be far from Kim if he showed Faith, and the girls would all be in Junior Showmanship right after. Tracie had offered to take in one of Kim’s younger dogs if they won their classes, so she wouldn’t be left behind with Beth. That would leave Sam and Dean alone waiting with Beth until Newfoundlands showed in the following hour.

Dean grinned up at Castiel and he nudged him with his elbow. “Go play with the mutt, Cas. Sam won’t let me do anything stupid,” he said. “Bring me back lunch while you’re at it, I’m starving.”

Looking over at Beth’s set up, Castiel watched the seemingly oblivious woman brush out the black and white Newfoundland’s tail and shout requests to Sam. If she stayed focused on her work, perhaps taking a few minutes to show Faith wouldn’t hurt.

Putting aside his unease, Castiel pocketed the cheese stick and headed across the field to the show rings.

Once more finding himself standing outside the gate to the Malinois ring, Castiel adjusted his armband and squinted across the tent to watch as Kim and the girls gathered and crowded around their ring’s posted schedule. He could see them well enough from where he was, but he could still feel doubt and worry nip at his heels.

Faith nudged at his hands impatiently and stood up on her hind legs, her front paws pressed against Castiel’s chest. She licked the air as she stretched, trying to reach his face. Over the past few days, Castiel had learned why Kim had called her a “Velcro dog;” she had remained glued to his side, quick to bring him one of her favourite toys or climbing into his lap for a cuddle when his thoughts turned dark.

He never thought he’d grow so attached to an animal, and he was honoured that the normally aloof Malinois had become so fond of him. With one final ear rub, he shortened her leash and headed into the ring at the assistant’s call.

As he expected, the entire breed judging only took about five minutes. Despite Castiel’s improved confidence in handling Faith, the judge barely spared them a glance and awarded the win to the impressive looking male champion. Castiel handed the last of the cheese stick to Faith, wincing as her teeth caught his fingers along with the snack.

His phone buzzed insistently in his pocket and he scowled. Was Dean really so impatient for lunch that he couldn’t wait until Kim finished in the ring? His frown deepened as he and Faith walked toward the German Shepherd ring, seeing two missed calls from Sam rather than the expectant burger demand from Dean. He redialed hastily, pausing where he could watch the shepherds and out of earshot of anyone ringside.

“Cas, Beth got Dean,” Sam said without preamble, sounding breathless. “He’s throwing up blood and I found a hex bag in the pocket of the chair he was sitting in. I don’t know how Beth slipped it there, but she’s loose.”

Castiel’s blood ran cold and he put a hand on Faith’s head to ground himself. Not Dean, it _couldn’t_ be Dean.

“How is he, Sam? Where are you?” he demanded as he spun around, breaking into a jog. “I’m coming to find you. Why did Beth act so quickly? She’s never attacked in the morning before, she’s always waited!”

“No, Cas, you have to stay there. We were pushing her, we wanted her to target me instead of Kim, and it worked a little too well. She reacted faster than we thought she would. Dean’s alive, I burned the hex bag at the car, but he’s lost a lot of blood, dude. I’m bringing him to Maine Medical Centre in Portland.”

Hospitals. Sam and Dean _never_ went to hospitals unless it was serious. Just a few months ago he could’ve healed Dean with a touch, and now Dean was forced to go to a place he usually avoided at all costs.

He’d failed Dean yet again, and this time it would possibly cost him his life.

“Cas, man, you still with me? You have to guard Kim. Keep her alive, you’re our last line of defense. We have no way of knowing what Beth will do now that she’s onto us,” Sam’s voice barked out from the speaker. “I’ll take care of Dean and keep you updated. You can do this, Castiel, I have faith in you.”

“Sam…”

“Do it, Cas. You’ve got this. Let the pros help Dean; Kim needs you more right now. I’ll be back to take care of Beth as soon as I can.” The line went dead.

Castiel could feel the blood pounding in his ears, his rage and grief bubbling dangerously close to the surface. A quick death was too good for anyone who dared to bring harm to _his_ Dean.

At his side, Faith whined and mouthed at his hand. The slight discomfort brought him back to himself, and he shook his head to clear it.

He couldn’t lose control, not while so much was at stake. Not while Sam and Dean were counting on him.

Murmuring quiet apologies in Enochian to Faith, he knelt and rubbed her ears. A plan was slowly forming in his mind, but he would have to keep a tight rein on his emotions if he were to succeed. He had the opportunity to completely eliminate Beth without risking anyone’s life but his own, and therefore keeping Kim and the brothers safe. He _had_ to try.

Strategy in place, Castiel smiled and nodded at Faith as she stretched to lick his nose. “I’m going to need your cooperation, if I may,” he whispered to her, resting his forehead against hers. “Will you watch my back?”

Faith wagged her tail and that was good enough for Castiel. He stood, stretching the stiffness out of his back and walked back toward the setup area. To his left was a large lake, the opposite shore well shielded by the trees. Few people seemed to go past the parking lot located halfway round the lake, choosing instead to stay near their vehicles and the main competition rings. He veered off the main path, lingering by the edge of the lake and humming thoughtfully to himself as he tossed a pebble several feet out. The shore dropped off abruptly, the water turning deep at a short distance. Good.

Humming an ancient pre-battle hymn, Castiel walked lightly back to the setup and nodded to Beth. “We did not win, but I think I’m starting to get the hang of this,” he said, scratching the top of Faith’s head. “Kim said she would be at the ring for a while yet: the juniors are up soon and they’re helping someone with Australian Shepherds.” A lie, but hopefully one to buy him some time.

Beth frowned. “Why’s she helping Aussies?”

Castiel shrugged, aiming for nonchalant. “I’m not sure. I think she may be taking one of the clients from that poor woman who was murdered in Springfield.”

That certainly got Beth’s attention. Castiel watched her out of the corner of his eye, noting the increased respirations and the quick reach behind her into her bag.

“That’s nice of her to do. If I weren’t so busy with Carson, I’d help as well.” She slipped something into her pocket and stood. “Your boyfriend’s gone to get lunch with his brother, did you want to grab a bite? I have sandwiches.”

Tracie was on her way back across the parking lot and Castiel knew he’d have to make a decision. He had to get Beth on the other side of that lake, away from the rest of the group.

Taking a risk, he nodded and took the proffered peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Thank you, Beth,” he said, smiling disarmingly at her. “I think I’ll eat over by those trees by the lake. It looks very peaceful. Will you let Sam and Dean know when they get back?” He had to force his tone to stay neutral, his voice threatening to crack at the mention of Dean.

“Sure, enjoy!” Beth replied, shooting a quick glance at the lake and hopefully coming to the same conclusion that Castiel had. No foot traffic and heavy cover would make a great place to dispatch an enemy.

Castiel nodded his thanks and turned toward the lake. Forcing himself to stay relaxed, he walked casually with Faith padding silently at his side. He didn’t want any harm to come to the Malinois but Beth had seen him eat his lunch in her company for the past week; it would be suspicious if he didn’t take her along. With any luck, she would be able to find safety once Castiel dropped her leash and made his move.

The hair on the back of his neck raised as he neared the lake’s shore, but he couldn’t risk a glance behind him. He knew Beth was following at a safe distance, having watched Faith turn to look back several steps earlier. The Malinois had ignored her, though; Beth was a familiar face and no cause for alarm in her eyes.

He sorely missed his enhanced angelic senses right about now.

The far shore of the lake was quiet and almost serene. Too far from the parking lots and grooming tents to be appealing to any of the exhibitors, it was the perfect place for Castiel to lay his trap. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and loosened his tie, acting as if the heat was starting to bother him dressed as he was. The only advantage of Kim insisting he change into the white dress shirt and black slacks was they were baggy enough that he could conceal his angel blade and the small pistol the Winchesters had gifted to him.

His fingers twitched as the snapping of twigs reached his ears. Clenching his jaw, he resisted the urge to turn and fling himself at his adversary. Not yet. Everything had to be perfect; he could not afford to lose even one second of control.

Reaching the section of shore under the cover of the tree line and down part of a hill, Castiel dropped Faith’s leash, pretending to watch as the Malinois ran down the embankment and splashed happily into the water. He closed his eyes, lips moving as he whispered his battle prayer. For Dean.

Castiel pivoted sharply on one foot as the crunch of footsteps faded into the sand. He twirled his blade in his hand, the Enochian weapon an extension of his arm. Heart singing with the thrill of battle and finally dispensing some justice, Castiel let instinct take over.

What he was _not_ expecting was for words of power to slam into him like a boulder, sending him staggering back and gasping for breath.

“You hunters are so predictable,” Beth sighed. “I was really hoping I’d see something better from the famous Winchesters, but their weakness will always be each other.”

White hot rage filled Castiel and he struggled against the magical force. She couldn’t be allowed to harm Dean and Sam and still draw breath!

“You’ve got some guts for a rookie though,” Beth continued conversationally. She spat out another spell, grinning as Castiel roared in pain and collapsed to one knee, the cartilage in the other tearing under the spell’s force. “I tried some magic on you earlier, but only the good stuff seems to stick. Why is that?”

Castiel snarled in Enochian as the witch stepped closer, pulling his head up by his hair. His vision narrowed, darkening at the edges until all he could see was Beth.

“Guess it doesn’t really matter since you’re not going to get out of here anyway. Tell me, does Dean bang all the new recruits or were you just pretty enough to get the job?” Beth laughed as she twirled a small silver knife in her hand, keeping up the pressure of her spell with the other. “You’ll join him soon enough. I gave him enough of a dose of that potion to bring down a horse.”

Lifting the knife to Castiel’s throat, Beth smiled. “Maybe I’ll keep some of your blood; whatever you’ve got in there is magic resistant enough to be pretty-“

Her words cut off with a shriek of pain as a red blur hit her out of nowhere. Faith sank her teeth deep into Beth’s right forearm, breaking the witch’s concentration and causing her knife cut to go wide. The Malinois lashed her head from side to side, growling viciously as she attempted to drag her opponent to the ground.

The break in power was enough for Castiel. Ignoring the gash on his neck from the knife, he stumbled to his feet, forcing his damaged leg to bear some of his weight. His knee was on fire with every step, further fueling his wrath. Barreling into Beth, he used his momentum to carry them both down the rest of the hill and into the lake with a splash.

Castiel surfaced first, gasping for air and cursing himself for not checking how deep this part of the lake ran. He spotted Beth breaking the surface of the water and he surged forward, kicking with his good leg and managing to get an arm wrapped around her neck before hauling them both back underwater.

Beth struggled against him, bubbles rising out of her mouth as she attempted to fire off another spell.

Tightening his grip, Cas twisted her smaller frame in front of him as they hit the bottom of the lake in a macabre parody of how he had dragged Dean out of Hell. One arm crossed her chest, holding her tightly against his torso as his other hand reached up and wrapped around her throat, pressing in with as much strength as he could muster.

Finally, Beth’s struggles ceased, her body going limp in Castiel’s arms. The red mist of violence slowly faded and his lungs burned, demanding air. Kicking off the bottom of the lake with one foot, Castiel let Beth’s corpse drop as he frantically pushed himself toward the surface. His muscles ached from resisting her spell and he knew it had torn something in his knee.

Blessed oxygen filled Castiel’s lungs as his head broke free of the water. He kicked toward the shore, paddling awkwardly in a shuffling motion until Faith appeared in front of him. Latching onto her collar, he let her tow him back to safety, a figurative guardian angel disguised as an ordinary looking red canine.


	10. All Of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TFW deals with the aftermath of the case. Dean and Castiel do some healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: "All Of Me" - John Legend
> 
> Chapter Warnings: smut, power play, dom/sub, slight sub drop, Dean's self worth issues. 
> 
> Just the epilogue to go! There WILL be a timestamp added to this series after the epilogue that will be set a few months after this chapter. Also please note as I've had several messages: Faith is NOT a service dog. She is a pet/sport/show dog. Castiel is not disabled, he's not human; Faith is not task trained and has a live bite per last chapter - all of these would disqualify her from being a service dog even if her handler is disabled. For more info on service dogs (I train them and use a GSD for mobility and cardiac response as my own) please feel free to check out my tumblr (@feathers-and-cigarettes) under the "service dog" or "my dogs" tags.

Part 10

Dean groaned as he slowly returned to consciousness. The steady beeping of a heart monitor was all too recognizable and he cursed his brother silently. Hospitals were a risk they couldn’t take at this point in the case, but he had apparently blacked out before he could finish arguing the point with Sam.

And really, he’d fucking _died_ before; a little blood loss was no biggie.

The buzz of the emergency room reached his ears and he wrinkled his nose at the smell of chemical sterilizers. He opened his eyes, squinting at the blurry plaid lump beside his bed until his vision cleared.

“Hope you run into a clown on the next hunt,” Dean croaked, throat raw from the earlier vomiting.

Sam merely smiled at him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re welcome, Dean.”

Huh. Maybe he had vomited more than he remembered. Taking the paper cup Sam offered him, Dean sipped at the water and studied his brother. “How bad?”

“Transfusion.”

“Shit.” Dean let his head fall back on the pillow and blindly handed the cup back to Sam. “How soon till we can get out of here?”

Sam frowned and glanced at the curtains creating the tiny room. “You’re gonna have to really convince them to discharge you. You were losing a ton of blood and then everything just stopped. The doctor was confused because he obviously couldn’t find a source for the bleeding.”

“Cas?” The hex bag had done its damage, but Beth had spiked his drink with some sort of potion – and Dean shuddered even thinking about what the ingredients for _that_ could have been. Beth had to have been dead to break that spell.

“He’s alive. He killed Beth, but busted up his knee. Kim drove him back to the motel and he’s waiting there for us,” Sam replied, the corners of his lips quirking upward. “I’d have thought he’d be the first thing you’d ask about,” he teased gently.

Blushing, Dean turned his head away from his smirking brother. “Yeah, well, you’d have told me if something happened to him.”

“I’m going to go back later and get rid of Beth’s body and I’ve got some evidence to plant before we leave. Charlie says she can get into her email and send the police looking at her.”

Good enough. Beth’s assistants would likely file a missing person’s report and law enforcement would put it together that she’d run after finding Sam and Charlie’s evidence. He let out a shaky breath and nodded before fumbling for the call button attached to his bed.

He _needed_ to see Cas, to see and feel for himself that the angel was whole, mentally and physically. He’d wanted to keep Cas out of a fight until he was sure he had a stronger grip on his emotions, in the interest of keeping his ‘zen.’ He felt sick that Beth had managed to pull a fast one on all three of them.

Sam’s hand squeezed Dean’s shoulder reassuringly. “Cas sounded normal when I talked to him. Tired, but nothing weird. He said he’d have more details for us when we got back.”

Several consent forms and three arguments with the doctor and nursing staff later, Dean collapsed into the passenger seat of the Impala, letting the familiar scent and feel of his Baby soothe him. He’d felt better, certainly, but he could walk and think clearly again. If there were complications from the spell… Sam and Cas would take care of him.

Cas made a much hotter nurse anyway.

Sam made a disgusted noise as he started the engine. “Dude, for real? Save whatever you’re fantasizing about until we get back to the motel _and_ after I leave.”

Dean grinned at Sam and let his head rest against the window. He was exhausted and would have to see what state Cas’ knee was in but he knew even Sam wouldn’t deny the healing power of life-affirming sex. They’d hopefully have a few hours to themselves while Sam was out; Dean wasn’t in the mood to rush anything.

He should probably cook Sam some fancy dinner when they got back to the bunker, considering all his baby brother had to put up with and all the legwork he’d done on the case.

The weather-beaten light blue siding of the motel was a welcome sight as Sam eased the Impala into the narrow parking space in front of their room.

Dean waved Sam away when his brother attempted to help him out of the car. He could make it the six fucking feet to the door by himself, thank you very much. A small wave of dizziness hit him as he stood, but passed after a moment.

And if he sagged a little bit into Cas’ strong arms as he entered the motel room, well, he was just happy to see him.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas’ deep rumble had _never_ sounded this good, this soothing. It washed over Dean like a balm and he held him tighter. “I was so worried. I wanted to contact Sam earlier but my phone stopped working.”

Dean buried his nose in Cas’ neck, breathing in the earthy scent underneath the cheap motel soap. Cas was whole and safe and _his_ … and balancing pretty well for someone with a busted knee.

Reluctantly, he let go and pulled back. “Sit down, man, you shouldn’t be on that leg,” he groused, moving to the freezer to grab an ice pack. “You probably haven’t done shit for it, I assume? Use this, let me get you some Tylenol.”

“Hi to you too, Cas,” Sam said with a grin as he squeezed around Dean to collapse into the chair. “We’re just happy you’re safe. We can get you a new phone later. Did Beth get it?”

Cas shook his head, obediently pressing the ice pack to his left knee. “I fell in the lake,” he replied, slapping Dean’s hands away from adjusting the pack. “I was attempting to lure her out and kill her there, but she had figured out who we were. Faith bit her and it broke the spell she had on me.”

Dean set two pills down on the end table, sitting on the bed next to Cas and checking him over. Cas appeared relatively unhurt, just looking about as exhausted as Dean felt, but he was a stoic bastard and Dean knew better than to assume he had no injuries other than his knee.

Swallowing the pills dry, Cas sighed and allowed Dean to prod at his torso.

“I knocked her into the lake and was able to drown her. Witches can’t cast life saving spells if they have no oxygen,” he said with a grim smile. “Her corpse will need to be recovered, but I thought it best to leave it for now and pretend I didn’t know where she had gone when I arrived back to the setup.”

“What did you tell Kim about your knee?” Sam asked.

“I slipped down an embankment when throwing a stick in the lake for Faith.”

Simple enough. They just had to hope no one else had decided to walk their dogs by the lake and spotted them. Or worse, discovered the body.

Dean glanced over at Sam. “When’s the show end?”

“It should be already over,” Sam replied, checking his watch. “I’d say wait another hour or two for the sun to set and I can head out to get rid of the body. Charlie should already be on the police database.”

“Bring a bathing suit,” Dean quipped, his inspection of Cas complete to his satisfaction – for now.

He groaned and laid back on the bed, blushing a little as Cas curled around his body. Why was it this small display of affection in front of Sam embarrassed Dean more than any of the _many_ times his brother had walked in on him mid-thrust into – or being thrust into – someone?

Cas seemed to sense his discomfort and shifted back, putting a more platonic distance between their bodies.

Fuck it, he needed Cas close more than he needed to hold onto his outward bravado. He pulled Cas firmly back into his side, tucking one arm around his shoulders and brushing a quick kiss to his temple. They both needed the stability of the other, and Dean wasn’t going to go back to how things were.

Sam, thank god, either didn’t pick up on the awkward exchange or simply chose to ignore it. He pushed his hair back from his face and picked up his phone. “So, uh, I talked to Amelia yesterday. She read Chuck’s books.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Dean snapped, refocusing his attention on his apparently braindead brother.

Hadn’t they _just_ had a discussion on not endangering her life? Not that Dean really could talk about making stupid decisions where his heart was concerned, but still. Sam was supposed to be the reasonable one.

Cas lifted his head from Dean’s shoulder to blink owlishly at Sam. “The woman you were with when Dean and I were fighting in Purgatory for a year?”

At least Dean wasn’t the only one still salty about that.

Sam had the good grace to look guilty. He fiddled with his phone, refusing to look at either Dean or Cas. “I didn’t mention it to her, or anything at all. One of her co-workers reads the books and gave her a few to borrow. She put two and two together and realized they were about us.”

“Wherever Chuck ran off to, I hope he gets hit by a bus,” Dean muttered.

“It was all coincidence, but she’s pretty paranoid, so she did a lot of research,” Sam continued. “She found all our stories from Henriksen looking for us and the Leviathans copying our bodies and going on that killing spree. I had to tell her the truth, Dean. If Chuck’s still out there, she’s going to end up in the books and we’re gonna need to protect her.”

Dean huffed. “I knew we should have threatened him with more than just guns.”

“It’s a moot point anyway, she already knows everything,” Sam sighed. He paused to type out a quick text before setting his phone back on the table. “We want to give it a shot though, being together. I didn’t stop loving her just because I had to leave her,” he finished quietly, almost guiltily.

That goddamned kicked puppy look was on his face and Dean groaned inwardly. This wasn’t going to be an argument he could win.

“Fuck. Fine. She’s obviously a hell of a woman if she can process all our bullshit _and_ is still attracted to you despite the Wookiee DNA.” Dean grinned at the bitch face his brother shot him. “Are you, y’know, going out there to see her?”

His gut twisted briefly at the thought of Sam leaving and he forced himself to tamp it down. Sam deserved happiness, something their lives sorely lacked most of the time.

Sam shook his head. “She’s moved to Hastings now. I was, uh, gonna invite her out to the bunker,” he finished in a rush. “I don’t know if she’ll want me to go out there first, hell, she probably doesn’t want me knowing exactly where she lives at this point, but it was the easiest option.”

Dean blinked and exchanged a look with Cas, who shrugged and settled himself back down onto Dean’s chest.

“We can always find a spell to wipe her memory if it goes badly,” Cas pointed out, burying his nose into Dean’s t-shirt and shutting his eyes.

“Dude’s got a point.”

“Dean!” Sam’s bitch face had evolved to a fully blown glare and it drifted between Dean and Cas.

“Hey, at least he’s not suggesting we kill her. Progress!”

Cas snorted and poked Dean’s ribs. “I can hear you,” he growled. “Sam would never agree to anything lethal.” Well, progress from being a _complete_ psychopath, anyway. Empathy was never Cas’ strong suit.

“Jesus,” Sam muttered. He rose to his feet, grunting as something popped in his back. “I just wanted to give you two the heads up. She’s already been talking to Charlie and I’m gonna call her tonight.” He turned toward the bathroom and snagged a fresh pair of boxers out of his duffel.

“As you’re dumping a body? You old romantic,” Dean called after Sam’s retreating form.

A middle finger appeared from behind the door before it slammed shut.

Dean snickered to himself. Really, he was happy for Sam. All he ever wanted was for his little brother to have a normal and happy life, to be safe from the evil that seemed to follow his family. If he could get one out of three, he’d have to be satisfied with that. If that happiness then lead to Sam leading a normal life, complete with wife, dog, and two-point-five children with a white picket fence, well…

Cas’ tongue laved just above Dean’s collarbone, making him twitch in surprise. “You’re brooding,” Cas remarked, lips moving against his skin.

“I’m not brooding,” Dean retorted automatically. He brought his hand up into Cas’ hair, rubbing in appreciation. “Just… figuring out if I can be happy for Sam or if I’m gonna be selfish.”

Shifting up the bed, Cas stroked Dean’s cheek, his eyes soft with understanding. “He won’t ever leave you, not completely. You and Sam are true soulmates – yes, soulmates can be platonic, hush,” he kissed Dean’s protest away before pulling back. “The bond you share can never be broken; not by Amelia, not by me, nor anyone else. For what it’s worth, I don’t believe Sam intends to retire from hunting.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Sam and I spoke at length, when I first Fell. He helped me through some of my darker moments and in return, I helped clarify some of his concerns about where his life was going. He expressed worry that he was wanting to continue the push to close Hell, that he wanted to get back into hunting. He was worried he was losing his humanity over the past few years, his compassion.”

Dean frowned, sinking back into the pillow. “That’s bullshit, Sam’s the most emotional dude I’ve ever met. You’ve seen him with vics, Cas, he’s practically crying with them.”

“Yes, but he’s always thought he wanted to get out of hunting,” Cas replied, fingers tracing lightly over the bones in Dean’s face. “Lately, he’s been thinking this is where he needs to be, where his future is. He didn’t want to share this with you because he knew you’d put his safety over your own.” Ghosting his fingertips down Dean’s jawline, he let them rest over his pulse point. “Having Amelia around won’t stop him from hunting. If anything, he’ll fight harder to keep her safe.”

Mulling over Cas’ words, Dean laced his fingers through Cas’ and stared at the ceiling. He remembered Bobby’s words long ago about the brothers’ toxic codependency and knew the truth in them. Sam needed to have his own life, separate from Dean and from hunting… and maybe Dean needed his own as well.

He turned on his side, snaking an arm around Cas’ waist and pulling him close. Licking at chapped lips until they opened for him, Dean sighed into the kiss, leisurely chasing Cas’ tongue with his own. This could be what he – what all three of them, really – needed.

“You’re gonna have to wear pants while Amelia’s there, y’know,” Dean whispered, breaking the kiss before it turned heated.

Cas grunted and shoved Dean away with a roll of his eyes.

~*~*~*~

They had ordered a pizza delivery after Sam’s shower and all three men had succumbed to food-induced slumber. The day’s stress and blood transfusion had made Dean ravenous, nearly matching Cas’ inhuman pace slice for slice. To his credit, Cas had kept a tight rein on his gluttony, even leaving two slices of meat lover’s pizza in the box for later.

The sound of the door quietly snicking shut woke Dean out of his light nap. Blearily, he fumbled under his pillow for his phone, checking the time and the incoming message from Sam.

_“Off to the lake. Back around two. Will keep you posted.”_

Against his back, Cas mumbled something incoherent and pulled Dean closer. Warm breath puffed against Dean’s nape, making it difficult to concentrate on responding to the text.

“Where’s Sam,” came the sleep-slurred voice.

“Hopefully not getting arrested,” Dean replied, tossing the phone back onto the nightstand and sinking back into Cas’ arms. “How’s your knee feeling?”

Rolling onto his back, Cas brought his leg up and extended it a few times, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Much less painful than a few hours ago. It’s sore, but I could walk on it. That’s… unusual, correct?”

Dean sat up and reached for Cas’ waistband, tapping the angel’s hips to get him to lift off the bed. Heat briefly flared in Cas’ gaze, but he merely raised an eyebrow at Dean before allowing him to remove his sweatpants.

_Don’t jump the angel; don’t jump the angel…_

“Yeah, unless you just banged it on something, that’s pretty fast healing,” Dean replied, fingers prodding at Cas’ kneecap. It certainly didn’t look or feel like he had torn anything.

“I could barely put weight on it. It hurt to try to swim to shore.”

Patting Cas’ leg and letting it fall back to the bed, Dean shrugged. “Maybe leftover mojo? Anna healed pretty quickly too.” Absently, he let his fingers skim over the bare skin of Cas’ calf. “I’d fake a limp or something tomorrow or Kim’ll get suspicious. Should give us an excuse to bail back to Kansas too.”

Cas hummed thoughtfully, his gaze raking down Dean’s torso. “When is Sam due back?” he asked, reaching up to slide his hands under Dean’s t-shirt.

“He said around two.” And he better not be back early or Dean was putting Nair in his shampoo again. Two gave them plenty of time for Cas to fuck him into the mattress until his brain melted.

Cas’ eyes darkened, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. Resting his hands on the hem of Dean’s t-shirt, he asked, “What’s your colour, Dean?”

He probably shouldn’t be this hard after a blood transfusion, but Dean was never one for following orders – outside the bedroom, anyway. He shivered as Cas’ fingertips danced along his hipbones just above his waistband.

“Green,” he replied eagerly, lowering his gaze. “Very, very green.”

The fingers dipped into Dean’s boxers, teasing gently. “Tell me what you need, Dean,” Cas purred, reaching up to stroke Dean’s lips.

Dean could tell Cas was holding back, keeping his touch light and gentle until he got the go ahead. He wanted Cas to let go, to trust Dean to keep him from falling too far.

And really, what Dean needed was to shut his brain off for a while, to just let Cas have him, body and soul.

Shutting his eyes, he sucked two of Cas’ fingers into his mouth with a noise that bordered on obscene. He bucked his hips upward, trying to get some friction. Swirling his tongue around the fingers, he let out a moan of frustration and balled his hands into fists. Cas hadn’t given him permission to touch either one of them yet.

Beneath him, Cas let out a low growl and worked his fingers in and out of Dean’s mouth.

“Dean,” he gritted out. “I require an answer, as much as I am enjoying this.”

Dean watched through half-lidded eyes as Cas’ gaze darted from his lips down to his cock, which strained at the front of his boxer briefs. He let Cas’ fingers slide out of his mouth with a pop.

“Need you to fuck me, Cas,” he breathed, his voice hitching with pent up emotion. “Please, Cas. Please fuck me, I need you.” His cheeks reddened, hearing the desperation in his own voice and he ducked his head again.

Damp fingers pushed under his chin, forcing his head up to meet Cas’ eyes, the blue gaze so full of adoration that it made Dean’s heart clench.

“Such a good boy, Dean; be patient,” Cas murmured as he propped himself up on one elbow. “Strip for me,” he ordered, pulling his own t-shirt off and tossing it onto the floor.

Dean scrambled to his feet, almost falling off the bed in his haste to comply. Hauling his shirt over his head and quickly shucking his briefs, he stood at the edge of the bed, waiting for permission to continue.

Cas had divested himself of the remainder of his clothing and idly stroked himself, one arm behind his head as he watched. He always seemed to be looking straight through to Dean’s soul, exposing every little quirk and flaw. It was both unnerving and exhilarating.

After what felt like an eternity, Cas seemed to be satisfied and crooked a finger at Dean, gesturing him back onto the bed.

Dean nearly stumbled over his own feet in his eagerness, scrambling back up onto the bed and swallowing Cas’ amused chuckle with a kiss. He threw a leg across Cas’, straddling his hips, overwhelmed with the feeling of Cas warm and hard and solid against him. He poured all of those feelings into the kiss, everything that went said and unsaid between them. Dean was far more of a man of actions, rather than words.

Cas slowly took control of the kiss, his hands mapping out every inch of Dean’s body before coming to rest in his hair.

The firm tug had Dean whimpering against Cas’ lips as he was pulled away. Confused, Dean tried to press back, to taste Cas’ lips again, but a stern “No” and a harder tug stopped him.

A gentle hand stroked his cheek, a contrast to the iron grip in his hair. Cas trailed his fingers down to Dean’s lips and pressed until Dean opened for him.

“Good boy, get these nice and wet for me, Dean,” Cas said, that impossibly deep voice pouring over him like silk. “Touch yourself; I want you to tap my wrist when you’re about to come. Do _not_ come until I tell you. Do you understand?”

Nodding, Dean reached down and wrapped his hand around his erection, groaning around the two fingers in his mouth. Not coming was going to be difficult; he could already feel his abdominal muscles tightening as he stroked himself and the intense look on Cas’ face as he watched was not helping. He redoubled his efforts on Cas’ fingers and was rewarded with a third and quiet praise.

“You are absolutely beautiful like this, Dean,” Cas said reverently. “So expressive; so eager. I want to see your face when I enter you, when you come with me inside you.”

Dean frantically tapped Cas’ wrist, whining around his fingers. Precome dripped from the tip of his cock onto Cas’ and Dean almost lost it right there.

Cas’ free hand joined Dean’s around his cock and squeezed the base firmly, cutting off Dean’s orgasm. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes and Dean blinked rapidly, his entire body trembling with the effort.

“So good, Dean,” Cas murmured. He reached under the mattress, watching as Dean’s hips bucked up with the loss of contact. “Would you like me to fuck you now?”

With a strangled sob, Dean nodded furiously. He was _beyond_ ready, and from the way Cas’ hips twitched underneath him, Cas was too.

Removing his saliva-drenched fingers, Cas ran them down the cleft of Dean’s ass, the touch maddeningly light.

“Dean, what’s your colour?” He flicked open the cap of the lube, eyes searching Dean’s as he spoke.

“Green,” Dean replied hoarsely, rocking back against Cas’ fingers. “Please, Cas, need you.”

Smiling gently, Cas adjusted Dean on his lap, adding lube to his already wet fingers. Dean hissed as one finger, then quickly two, breached him. The discomfort eased as Cas worked him expertly; Dean always relished the burn and stretch, the slight pain adding to the pleasure of being filled.

Dean lost himself in the sensations, taking care not to whine out his frustrations because Cas stopped every time he did so. As hot as Cas’ control freak tendencies were, he needed him to move faster. His fingers clenched on Cas’ hipbones and he sucked in a breath as Cas found his prostate.

Lips curled into an almost predatory smile, Cas withdrew entirely and relaxed back onto the pillows. “This is close to the most beautiful view I’ve ever seen,” he commented casually, trailing his hand down Dean’s chest, stopping just short of his groin.

Dean squirmed under both the praise and the touch, heat rising to his cheeks. They had never been so intimate before, with Dean on display like this. He shut his eyes, then flinched as Cas’ hand came up like a vice grip on his chin.

“No. You will keep your eyes open,” Cas growled. He shifted Dean on his hips, cock poking against Dean’s entrance. “Ride me,” he commanded. “Touch yourself, but you will not come until I tell you. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” Dean panted as he reached around his body to guide Cas in.

His need to come had waned a bit with the preparation, but he still wasn’t entirely sure how long he could last. Cas wouldn’t let him fail though, not tonight, Dean was certain.

Cas thrust his hips upward, smoothly sheathing himself and immediately setting a sharp pace.

Dean scrambled to brace himself, one hand clutching at Cas’ hip. He whined nonsensically, breath coming in small gasps. It had been a while since he had done this position and the burn in his thighs only added to his pleasure.

A hand cracked down sharply on his ass. Dean let out a punched out cry, the sudden pain startling.

Cas’ eyes were narrowed and he squeezed Dean’s ass, fingers digging into the reddened mark he’d left. “I said to touch yourself, Dean,” he rebuked. “Do not make me remind you again.”

Wrapping a hand quickly around his cock, Dean nodded and gasped out an affirmative. He struggled to match Cas’ pace, his hips slamming down to meet the upstrokes. Keeping his touch light, he stroked himself in time to the thrusts, putting himself on display for Cas’ pleasure.

“That’s much better, Dean, you’re doing so well. So beautiful.” Cas’ soft praise was contrasted with every thrust of his hips and the fingertips he dug into Dean’s hips and ass and Dean couldn’t get enough of any of it.

Cas abruptly sat upright, hauling Dean into position in his lap. He sucked bruises into Dean’s collarbone, nipping above his tattoo before trailing his lips up Dean’s neck to bite at the bolt of his jaw. One arm wrapped around Dean’s waist as they continued to move together, rhythm only faltering for a second as they adjusted to the new angle.

Finally, _finally,_ Cas’ lips covered Dean’s own, teeth clacking against his with the force of the kiss. Dean surrendered to the living maelstrom that was Castiel, his free arm winding around the angel’s neck to keep him as close as possible. The thrusts were shallower now that Cas couldn’t get any real leverage but the constant rocking against his prostate had Dean hurtling toward orgasm.

“Cas,” Dean panted into his mouth. “Cas, please. Gonna come.” He slowed his stroking of his own cock, not daring to completely let go until he was granted permission.

“Not yet,” Cas breathed, his own movements growing erratic. He dropped his head to Dean’s shoulder. “You can hold out just a little bit longer.”

He couldn’t, everything was just too _much_. Cas was in him and watching him and owning him and Dean was trembling with the effort of holding back the tidal wave of both pleasure and emotions. He gasped and sobbed, pressing his cheek against Cas’ hair, completely abandoning trying to meet Cas’ thrusts and instead just holding him as tightly as he could.

“Dean. Dean, look at me,” Cas said, his voice sounding as wrecked as Dean had ever heard it. He had lifted his head, blue eyes searching Dean’s and pinning him in place. He slowed his rapid pace, sweat beading down his chest. “You’re doing so well, I’m so proud of you. Would you like to come now?”

“Yes, please, Cas, yes.” Dean was babbling now and he didn’t care. His toes curled and his fingertips had to be leaving bruises where they clutched at Cas’ skin: a matching set for the ones he knew peppered his body.

“Yes, what?”

A strangled whine escaped Dean’s throat. “Yes, I want to come, Cas, please!”

“Good boy,” Cas purred. He tugged Dean’s hair, pulling him close. “Kiss me.”

Dean let himself go, kissing Cas with abandon. He sank his teeth a bit too hard into Cas’ lower lip as Cas resumed his previous frantic thrusting and it only seemed to spur Cas on more.

Cas licked into his mouth with more enthusiasm than real skill and could someone just kill Dean right there? He wasn’t going to go out with a better bang.

“Come for me,” Cas growled against his lips, both of them more sharing the same air rather than kissing as they gasped and panted against their mouths.

That was one order Dean had no issue following. He cried out his orgasm, resting his forehead against Cas’ as waves of pleasure wracked his body.

Grinding his ass down onto Cas’ cock, he was distantly aware of Cas finding his own release and crying out his name.

A soft voice was whispering in his ear, and it took Dean a solid minute to realize that no, he wasn’t just so fucked out that he couldn’t understand English, it was Cas speaking Enochian. Cas had readjusted them at some point, laying back down and keeping Dean tucked onto his chest.

“Dean?”

Dean swallowed heavily, his voice hoarse when he finally found it. “Probably busted your knee up again.”

Cas chuckled, the wonderful sound reverberating through his chest. He dropped a kiss on the top of Dean’s head. “I think I’ll survive.”

“Yeah, well, when I can feel my legs again I’m getting you another ice pack.”

A disgruntled noise escaped Cas’ throat and he tightened his arms around Dean. “No. Stay here. I’m watching over you for a while.”

Dean’s desire to be held and simply bask in Cas’ comforting presence warred with the little voice in the back of his mind that told him he didn’t deserve this. He remained silent for a few moments before his thoughts became too stifling, threatening to burst.

Without a word, he pushed himself out of Cas’ embrace and walked stiffly toward the bathroom.

He braced himself against the counter, kicking the door shut behind him and refusing to look at himself in the mirror. He was being selfish. Sure, Cas was able to keep himself in control _this_ time, but would he really be able to get better? Or was Dean setting him up for failure simply because Dean couldn’t control his own feelings?

Frustrated, he quickly relieved himself and cleaned with a damp washcloth. Throwing the cloth aside, he sucked in a deep breath and braced himself to go face Cas.

The angel in question had other ideas, apparently. As soon as Dean swung the bathroom door open, Cas was crowding him back up against the counter. Hurt and confusion marred Cas’ features and it was apparent he was keeping his irritation tightly reined in. He bracketed his arms on either side of Dean, eyes narrowed.

“What do you want, Dean? Not what you think I want, or what you think you should have, but what do _you_ ,” Cas punctuated his words with a sharp poke to Dean’s chest, “want? On the beach, you said you wanted me, was that true?”

Dean clenched his jaw, looking away. Of course it was true, but that didn’t make it the _right_ choice.

Cas’ voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “Answer me, Dean.”

“It’s true,” Dean replied, still avoiding Cas’ sharp gaze. “But I’m gonna fuck it up, Cas. I fuck up everything.”

Cas was silent for a moment, his face betraying no emotion. Dean wished he could read Cas as well as the angel seemed to be able to read him, but Cas had a mean poker face when he wanted to.

“You spoke about trust. You trusted me with the lives of innocents, you trusted me tonight. Can you not trust me to help you? To ensure you don’t fail?” He tilted his head, bringing one hand up to gently brush Dean’s cheek. “Perhaps both of us can save each other, regardless of whether we think we deserve it or not.”

Tears pricked at Dean’s eyes and he nodded, wrapping his arms around Cas’ waist. The full weight of the emotional stress of the week had finally settled on Dean’s shoulders and he buried his face in Cas’ neck, holding him tight.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he whispered, voice muffled against Cas’ skin. “I trust you.”

Murmuring quiet words of encouragement and praise, Cas returned the embrace, running his hands soothingly up and down Dean's back. “I trust you too, Dean. We can do this; I have faith.”

~*~*~*~

The next morning passed surprisingly smoothly.

Sam had arrived back at some point in the early hours and filled in Dean and Cas when they woke. He and Charlie had worked throughout the night, with Charlie working remotely to call in anonymous tips and adjust police records, and Sam disposing of Beth’s body and planting key evidence.

With Tracie and Melanie in shock at their employer’s disappearance and police investigation, Kim and another handler stepped in to help the girls with the dogs and making arrangements with the owners. Sam and Dean stepped in to help where they could, mostly walking dogs and keeping the girls company.

Tracie seemed to be the most affected by the revelation that Beth was now the prime suspect in the string of murders, breaking down at the thought of her little sister being possibly put into harm’s way. Dean had pulled her aside, talking her through her fears and making sure she had a solid support network with Kim and a few other Newfoundland people. Tracie had raised Melanie just as Dean had raised Sam, and Dean had an inkling of the guilt she was feeling, no matter how unfounded it was.

Stuffing the last of the duffel bags in the trunk and shutting it, Dean leaned against the Impala and smiled at Kim as she approached.

“They’ll be okay,” she said without preamble. “They’re strong young women, and Tracie has enough experience under her belt to take on some of the client load if she chooses. We’ll look out for them.”

Dean nodded, eyes drifting to where Cas sat on the bench with Faith, his knee carefully wrapped and stretched out in front of him.

Faith was wagging her tail excitedly, dropping a tennis ball into Cas’ lap and backing up a few steps to catch it as he tossed it back to her. Both were lost in their simple game and Dean felt his heart twist at the thought of breaking them apart.

Kim cleared her throat, pulling a thick envelope out from behind her back. “I also wanted to talk to you about this first; I know how you are with dogs, so I wanted to give you first right of refusal.”

She handed the packet over to Dean, who frowned and opened it curiously. Inside was a short one page contract, a certificate from the American Kennel Club, and several pages of veterinarian records.

“I want you boys to take Faith. I’ve been in this breed my entire life and I’ve never seen a Malinois take to someone as well as Faith has taken to Cas. He’s learned a lot about caring for her, and I’d rather see her go with someone who she’ll do some good for rather than someone who just wants another sport dog.”

Speechless, Dean looked over at Sam as his brother walked back from the office. “We can’t possibly,” he began, before he remembered their cover had in fact been to find a dog. “We weren’t expecting something so quickly,” he amended. “We couldn’t afford to buy her yet.”

Kim shrugged. “Keep in touch and finish her championship and we’ll call it even. It’s the least I can do after you three saved us.”

Sam thumped Dean’s back unhelpfully as Dean gaped and coughed. “What do you mean?” Sam asked, voice obviously strained.

“I didn’t grow up under a rock, Sam. Lots of deaths, country boys show up in plaid and all of a sudden it’s resolved and the murderer runs away?” Kim snorted. “I know hunters when I see them. My great-uncle Carl was a hunter up in Bangor; I don’t know too many details but I know enough. Just make sure Faith stays safe and she’s yours.”

Dean stepped forward and hugged her, meeting Cas’ confused look over her shoulder. “We promise. And if you need anything, you give us a call, okay?” He gave her shoulders one last squeeze before letting her go. “No matter how small. Same goes for Tracie.”

As Sam moved into Dean’s place to hug Kim, Dean grinned at Cas and waved the envelope. “C’mon, Cas. Say your goodbyes and put down a towel down in the back so your goddamn mutt doesn’t scratch up my Baby. And if you think she’s sleeping on the bed back home, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Kim’s rich laughter blended with Faith’s excited barking as Cas hobbled over to hug her with a stunned expression on his face. She whispered something in his ear and he nodded, eyes quickly meeting Dean’s.

Opening the driver’s side door, Dean turned and glared at his smirking brother over the hood of the Impala. “Not a fucking word out of you,” he hissed.

Sam grinned as he slid into the seat and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Nah, won’t say anything about how whipped you are.” He laughed and held up his hands to fend off Dean’s mock punches. “But, dude, I’m proud of you. You and Cas both. It’s about time.”

It was about time, Sam was right. Dean hid his smile with a cough and hit his brother’s shoulder once more. “Yeah, yeah. Bitch.”

“Jerk.”


	11. Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: "Happiness" - NEEDTOBREATHE
> 
> "Sometimes you leave the ones you love  
> But if it's love, they won't give up  
> 'Cause they know a war's ragin' and you gotta choose.  
> These days are tough, these days are long  
> Sometimes it's hard, you carry on  
> But I hear a voice singin' and I know it's true
> 
> I got dreams that keep me up in the dead of night  
> Telling me I wasn't made for the simple life  
> There's a light I see, but it's far in the distance  
> I'm asking you to show me some forgiveness  
> It's all for you in my pursuit of happiness."

Epilogue

“This is heaven, right here. Just leave me here when it’s time to go back to Kansas. I’ll be fine.”

Dean rolled his eyes and nudged Charlie with his foot. She had her arms wrapped around Cruiser, the black and white Newfoundland, and buried her face in his thick coat as they waited ringside. September in New Hampshire wasn’t any cooler than May in Massachusetts had been and Dean was looking forward to a nice refreshing beer back at the setup.

“You’ll drown in drool,” Dean commented, laughing quietly as Cruiser licked Charlie’s face.

“Lies. He can be the head of Moondoor’s Royal Guard. Ser Fluffington.”

“No more dogs,” Dean said adamantly. “You saw what Faith did to the couch last week. At least Riot goes home occasionally.”

Charlie’s face peered at him from around Cruiser’s fluffy neck. “Uh, that’s because you and Hot Wings forgot to put her in the crate and decided to do the do.”

“Whatever. Shut up.” He shielded his eyes against the sun with his hand and spotted Sam’s shaggy head near one of the trailers parked against the line of trees. His brother had his arm wrapped around Amelia’s waist as they stood over a pen of small fluffy puppies.

Dean was probably going to regret his agreeing to let Sam bring one home, but he wasn’t about to change his mind in front of Amelia. She had beaten him in a shooting contest with a shotgun the previous week during a dare – after she had gone shot for shot with him. Dean wasn’t sure if he should be upset or jealous.

They all had been happier over the past few months. Sam’s relationship with Amelia had a few rocky moments, and Dean wasn’t going to touch his own self-worth issues with a ten-foot pole any time soon, but he had to admit: things weren’t half bad.

Sam’s puppy brooding had started in August, after taking care of Faith’s daily exercise regime when Cas had come down with the flu (which had been possibly the worst week of Dean’s existence; angels were fucking _pissy_ when they didn’t feel good). Riot made a decent partner for Sam’s renewed interest in frisbee, but he and Amelia were taking things slowly and Riot remained with Amelia full time.

And really, Dean was pretty surprised Sam had made it into his 30s before breaking down and trying to get a dog, that one incident in Flagstaff notwithstanding.

So here they all were, back in New England for another dog show, this one hopefully without the witches and murder.

Sam had handed Riot’s leash over to Amelia and had a black, tan, and white puppy in his arms, a broad smile stretched across his giant face. He looked up, searching for a moment before making eye contact with his brother and beaming.

Dean rolled his eyes and waved, half expecting Sam to hold up the puppy like the fucking Lion King.

“Do you think he’s driving back with Amelia or are we going to have to stop every hour so the puppy doesn’t pee in the car?” Charlie mused, handing Cruiser off to Tracie as the younger woman jogged up to the ring.

A valid question, but one that made Dean’s heart twinge slightly. He had done the drive up to New Hampshire without Sam, and he’d certainly traveled without him before, but not having him at his side all the time was still new and raw. Sharing his baby brother with Amelia wasn’t coming easy, but Dean was slowly learning to let go.

“He’ll probably go with Amelia. I wouldn’t want her driving back alone either and it was crowded enough on the way up here,” Dean said. “They can deal with the little piss factory.”

Sam was all smiles as he joined Dean and Charlie by the ring. The little Australian Shepherd blinked owlishly at Dean before snuggling back down against Sam’s chest. Amelia laughed and scolded Riot as the dog balanced on his hind legs, trying to sniff the puppy.

“Dean, meet your new nephew: Raven,” Amelia said, grinning up at Sam.

“Oooh, as in Ravenclaw?” Charlie asked excitedly as Sam nodded. “Excellent choice! Ten points!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Nerds,” he muttered as he reached out to scratch the puppy’s head, wincing as it nibbled at his fingers. “Have fun getting up to take it outside in the middle of the night. Mine’s at least housetrained.”

Sam handed the puppy over to Charlie, who made happy cooing noises and Dean was pretty sure he was the only sane one left. “When’s Cas showing?” Sam asked, nudging Dean with his elbow.

“Should be any minute, ring four,” Dean replied, pointing at the ring next to the one Tracie and Melanie were in with the Newfoundlands.

Cas was visible under the tent talking with Kim. He had insisted on wearing a suit to show Faith this time (“Dean, even the small children dress formally to show”) and was once more dressed in Jimmy’s old black suit jacket and slacks, the familiar blue tie for once not backwards round his neck. Charlie had bought him a light blue dress shirt to replace the old white one after a ghost had shredded it to ribbons.

As the judge waved him into the ring, Cas lowered his sunglasses off the top of his head and led Faith in.

“Dude, are you drooling?” Sam joked, laughing as Dean flipped him the bird. Anyone who _wasn’t_ drooling over Cas clearly didn’t have eyes.

Despite Cas’ social awkwardness, he exuded confidence with everything he did with Faith. The Malinois gazed adoringly at him and wagged her tail furiously as the judge examined her before gesturing for them to go around the ring.

Dean flashed Cas a grin and a thumbs up as they jogged past. A small smile quirked at Cas’ lips and Dean’s grin broadened. Maybe Charlie would have pity on him and give them a few hours to themselves in the motel.

“They look great,” Amelia said, following Dean’s gaze. “Very professional.”

More than a few eyes were turned on Cas, both female and male, Dean noted with a bit of smugness. He couldn’t blame them; even with the ill-fitting suit, Cas stood out among the other handlers in the ring.

Faith too, was brimming with confidence, her rich mahogany coat shining in the sun. She glanced briefly at the judge, sizing her up before turning her attention back to Castiel.

The judge wasn’t immune to their effect either. She pointed to Faith, nodding at Cas with a prim smile and handing him a purple ribbon. Kim and Dean both cheered at the same instant, and Tracie leaned over from the Newfoundland ring to shake Cas’ hand.

Clapping enthusiastically, Charlie whistled and joined Dean with cheering. “That’s all Faith needed, right? She’s a champion now?”

“Yep, she’s done,” Dean confirmed before jogging over to meet Cas outside the ring gate.

Kim had Cas in a bear hug, slapping him heartily on the back. She knelt down, scratching Faith behind the ears and kissing the top of her head.

Cas pushed his sunglasses back as Dean approached, a rare genuine smile on his face. His hair stuck up in every direction, curling around his ears with sweat. Dog hair covered his suit jacket and the damned tie was s _till_ crooked. Dean was just as struck by him as he was when Cas first strode into the barn those long years ago.

This was it for him. This scruffy, moody, caffeine-addicted fallen angel with the little red mutt.

Dean pulled Cas into a close embrace, ignoring the stares of the exhibitors and spectators. He kissed him fiercely, a promise of more in a gentle nip to Cas’ lower lip. Pulling back, Dean rested his forehead against Cas’ and beamed. “Guess I can pick a winner after all,” he chuckled teasingly.

Cas returned the smile, blue eyes bright with happiness. “It helps to have a little faith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks! There will be a timestamp set between ch 10 and the epilogue and I hope to do a sequel at some point. Thank you so much for reading and commenting, everything means so much to me in this first foray into Destiel and SPN fandom. I've included some info and closing notes about the shows themselves and Belgian Malinois and some links for those interested
> 
> A huge thank you again to @li-izumi, who was my savior in this fic and an amazing beta and encouragement. Thank you as well to @pherryt, for your gorgeous artwork and cheerleading and being a huge support. You guys were my guardian angels in this. 
> 
> American Kennel Club shows run how they’re described here: you show against your own breed in the morning, and in the afternoon, the winner of each breed will show in their own group, then the winners of those groups will compete for Best In Show. Usually, all breed shows number anywhere from 500-1000 dogs, sometimes more. Dogs are judged not against each other (except in their own breeds), but against their own individual breed standard. The dog who best fits that standard wins. Junior handlers (ages 9-18) have their own competition where they are judged on how accurately they present their dogs, rather than the dogs competing. A junior can show a dog of any breed or age, show quality or not, and it teaches them things about dog ownership, grooming, maintenance, and becoming a team. If your child is interested in junior showmanship, please message me on tumblr and I can help you find mentors in your area that will help you with a dog.
> 
> The Belgian Malinois is not a great pet dog. As stated in the fic, they are primarily used as police and military K9s and they are not an easy breed to live with. They are typically sharp tempered, extremely high energy and high drive, and can have a nervous temperament. They need a job in order to be happy. My own Malinois, “Castiel,” can be found on my main blog (@crippledhockwalker) and he is also the last dog in line in the video linked below. They are aloof with strangers, but very attached to their people and want to be right on top of you all the time. My Mal we call a fuzzy velociraptor, but he is the cuddliest dog I have ever owned. This is a breed that requires a very specific type of owner and a ton of research before making a commitment to own. Please don’t hesitate to ask questions if you’re considering adding a Malinois to your family – either through myself or through the American Belgian Malinois Club, the American Working Malinois Association, or the American Belgian Malinois Rescue. 
> 
> Links and resources:  
> Intro to Conformation: https://www.akc.org/sports/conformation/  
> Junior Showmanship: https://www.akc.org/sports/conformation/junior-showmanship/  
> Video of a Malinois class at the Better Living Centre in Springfield, MA (Winners Dog, male winners of each age group – winner is the 6-9 month puppy named “Castiel”): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ni_SiGP8sxM  
> American Belgian Malinois Club: http://www.malinoisclub.com/abmc/  
> Follow me on tumblr! http://www.feathers-and-cigarettes.tumblr.com


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